


Spring Awakening [REPOST]

by orphan_account



Series: Devotion [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (but not between Victor and Yuuri), 69 (Sex Position), Accidental Voyeurism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Infidelity, Intersex Omegas, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Yuuri Katsuki took the personal assistant position, he never intended to pursue a relationship with, or worse, fall in love with his employer, Lord Victor Nikiforov - particularly when Victor is married to a very rich, very powerful, very dangerous Alpha.(Repost, read beginning notes!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided that this verse would work better in a series as opposed to one long fic. The first part is going back to being just that one short pwp, and new fic will be new works in a series. This is the last three chapters in the original fic, so sadly nothing new... But there's a new part coming out today!!!! :D 
> 
> Also if you've actually read/seen spring awakening you're probably really side-eyeing the title, I'm really bad at titles I just picked it because spring awakening is about sex. This fic certainly isn't a tragedy like the book/play is. 
> 
> Also also, c&p from the original fic about Dmitri:  
So, the alpha in this is bad news. I started this with a "no archive warnings apply" label and I don't think it would be fair to my readers to change that later, as I think of ideas for plot moments later down the line. There might be some sexual harassment, but there will be no on-screen (and probably not even any alluded to) rape/non-con, and no graphic physical abuse. I'm being vague both for spoiler purposes and because, tbh, that part is not written yet! I'll make sure to update tags as I go, and if something shows up in a chapter, I'll alert you in the notes as well - just make sure you check both of those things if you're worried about something happening!

“This is the foyer,” Victor drawls, seemingly bored. Yuuri tries not to take personal offense, but his interview clothes constrict him so much, leaving him hot and sweaty and feeling like a sad, overheated lump, so everything feels worse. He never wears nylons – so these stretch, itch, cling too tight to his hips and ass.

Victor is wearing simple, chic clothing – slacks and a button down shirt that likely cost twice the price of Yuuri's entire outfit, and Yuuri wilts looking at him.

He never knows – male omegas are in a sort of purgatory in terms of dressing. They have the figures of male betas, albeit often slighter and with wider hips and thicker thighs – yet the reproductive capabilities of female omegas, betas, and even the occasional alpha.

Skirts for male omegas fall in and out of fashion. Yuuri remembers reading some article about how the young professional male omega should have one classic pair of slacks and one classic pencil skirt, to keep up with the changing times.

It's very hard not to stress, though, when staring at the casual, masculine v-neck of Victor's open top button and remembering how this skirt apparently accentuates Yuuri's plush, feminine ass. He wants to make a good impression –_ really_ wants to make a good impression – and these godawful heels and outfit he's put on seem to be doing the opposite.

“It's lovely,” Yuuri manages.

Victor's gaze flits to him, so very, very blue. There's an easy confidence in his movements, in the way he commands the massive foyer with its marble staircase and rich, centuries old artwork and well maintained floral arrangements. Yuuri feels very small.

“We welcome guests here. When we have dinner parties, you will likely be asked to help take coats, hats, the like.”

Yuuri nods. Then, when Victor doesn't even look at him, says, “Ah – yes.”

In the foyer are the classic family photographs – Victor on various vacations, in different highly fashionable outfits. There’s an alpha with him in some, who Yuuri assumes must be master of the house, but for the most part it’s Victor and a very fluffy brown poodle.

On the left side, Yuuri notes photos of the alpha with sets of people who look like him, presumably his parents. Bigger, blown up shots show him accepting innovation awards – there’s even one of him with a much younger Victor, clad in a slinky red dress with silvery locks spilling like silk down his shoulders, clinging to the same alpha and looking up at him with awe. That was from when the startup was really getting big, Yuuri remembers.

It looks like the cover of an alpha’s magazine, the power fantasy of success with a beautiful omega on one’s arm.

“They used that picture on the over of Tech World Weekly,” Victor says. He doesn’t sound very proud of it. “Of course, the point of a cover photo for a purely electronic publication escapes me, but what do I know?”

“You look lovely,” Yuuri manages, then flushes, as though he’s said something dirty.

Victor offers him a small smile.

Right in the center of the foyer is a massive print, still glossy despite being nearly ten years old, of Victor and the alpha from their wedding.

Yuuri remembers being much younger, barely fourteen, and noting the media buzz around the young Noble married to the up and coming tech genius. He remembers the strange feelings in his stomach as they’d unveiled photos of Victor in his wedding dress, sewn in the traditional Russian style but with a deep, plunging neckline.

With some embarrassment, then, Yuuri remembers how his eyes always seemed to fall to that neckline – to the curve and cleavage of Victor’s chest as he cut the wedding cake, how Yuuri could swear the fabric crinkled just-so, and his whole breast was visible-

But now, staring at the photo, eighteen year old Victor doesn’t seem to exude class and sensuality. He just looks… Young.

“Did you follow the wedding?” Victor murmurs, noting Yuuri’s gaze.

Yuuri can’t help but feel like this question is a test.

“Ah,” he says, flushing, “I mean, it was all over the news – not as much in Japan, but we still saw some of it.”

It’s a half-truth. Young Yuuri had very much followed the wedding, amazed at how beautiful Victor was. It had seemed like serendipity that Victor, so close by, was advertising for a new personal assistant just as Yuuri’s life was collapsing. So, he took it as a sign – and in a fit of passion, he had called _persistently_ until they’d gotten back to him.

“Mm,” Victor nods. “It’d be naive to assume I could hire someone totally unfamiliar with me. Of course, we’ve turned away a few applicants with no qualifications simply because they want to be close to a celebrity.”

There’s one photo in the back, faded and hidden away, of a very young Victor with two women looking like the spitting image of him. It’s hard to make out much detail, since the photo is so old, but Victor and who Yuuri figures are his parents are standing in a snowy yard, all bundled up in layers upon layers of warm clothing. Victor’s smile is bright, glowing.

It’s the only photo of Victor’s family in the foyer.

“I am very qualified,” Yuuri says, firm. “My entire family works in hospitality. We own an inn, so I’m very used to taking care of the guests needs. I like to think I’ll be more than just the person who schedules your appointments – perhaps I could be a companion, as well.”

Victor nods. He leads Yuuri forward, hips swaying as he walks. Yuuri tries not to stare at how Victor fills out his jeans, tries to tamp down the blinding - well, he doesn’t quite know what the feeling is, but maybe jealousy? - he feels looking at him.

Victor is the picture perfect omega – his skin is flawless, his hair glossy enough for shampoo commercials (of which it's been in many), his posture graceful and weightless.

Yuuri left academia after humiliating himself at a colloquium, thinking he could play ball with the biggest alpha names in the field. Two degrees from Harvard and internships at the Smithsonian and Oxford University – all for nothing.

“This is the portrait hall,” Victor is saying, and Yuuri quickens his pace just a bit, “Sent all the way from Russia – the illustrious Nikiforov dynasty.”

Yuuri blows out a breath. Before him are massive portraits, centuries old – all containing the busts of the Lords and Ladies of the Nikiforov household throughout the generations. They certainly look their age, Yuuri thinks. Many of them have cracked, fading paint – little chips in the fine lines and details.

“We've hired a team of art conservationists to maintain them,” Victor explains, perhaps noting Yuuri's gaze. “My alpha mother had thought they’d been lost, but then, one day, one of the dogs got lost and she went looking in an old shed...”

He wiggles his eyebrows, building intrigue. Yuuri laughs, then wonders if he was supposed to laugh, and bites his lip in embarrassment. Victor smiles back, though, and Yuuri relaxes, a little.

“The shed had actually remained pretty climate controlled,” Victor nods, “So there they were, dating back centuries, in pristine condition. I like to call these paintings the Nikiforov Mummies.”

Yuuri snorts again at that.

Victor beams at Yuuri, and they continue the tour. He points to a coat of arms above a set of intricately carved wooden doors. “The symbol of the Nikiforov family.”

Yuuri nods, staring up at it with interest. He waits for Victor to say more about these ancestors, or the coat of arms, but Victor breezes through the doors and says with that same bored drawl from the foyer, “The library.”

After they leave the library, Yuuri winces as he notes the massive flight of stairs in front of him. His feet are already beginning to hurt from walking in his silly heels, and he tries desperately to maintain even breathing as they ascend.

“This is my bedroom,” Victor says, opening the door with a flourish. “It has an attached bath. At night, I'll require assistance with my evening routine. What's your background in skin and haircare?”

Yuuri starts, not immediately aware he's being addressed. “Ah,” he says, softly, “My parents inn offered some treatments, so I know a little bit about those. I can um, braid hair, style it in some ways...”

“Well,” Victor says, “If all else fails, I'll have you hold the bottles while I do my nightly regimen.” He peers at Yuuri, eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's your skincare routine?”

“Um,” Yuuri stammers, “Some moisturizer, a little toner... When I remember, I suppose.”

Victor's eyes widen and he runs a finger over Yuuri's soft, smooth cheek.

“Incredible,” he murmurs.

Yuuri goes bright red, but luckily Victor has turned away.

The carpet is so plush that Yuuri worries he may topple over, so he almost misses it when Victor goes on to say, “There's a much larger bathing area attached to the house, at the far end. The master bedroom is down the hall – that's where the Alpha sleeps.”

_Oh_? Yuuri thinks, feeling a spark of surprise. _They're not sleeping together?_

Victor didn't even use his name. He doesn't dare ask, though – and anyway, he knows for his parents' inn that gossip has a way of getting around the staff.

Victor opens a side door, revealing a very steep set of stairs. Yuuri struggles to maintain his interview smile, following Victor down a flight.

“Have you met Yakov?” Victor chirps, trying to make conversation.

Yuuri remembers steely gray eyes peering at him over a stack of his papers, remembers, _“Yuuri Katsuki, I daresay you're overqualified for this position.”_

“Yes,” Yuuri manages.

Victor turns to him, a fond smile on his face. “He's a little gruff,” he says, “But he's a big softie on the inside. The Feltsmans have been serving the Nikiforovs for centuries.”

“He said he's known you since you were young,” Yuuri offers.

Victor smiles again, twisting a strand of hair between his fingers, where it's fallen out from the lovely braid at the nape of his neck.

“Here's the kitchen,” Victor continues, as though the small, intimate moment never happened. “Generally, the staff will eat in here at set times – Yakov can tell you more about those. In your case, however, you'll be dining with me.”

“Keeping you company,” Yuuri murmurs.

Victor turns to him, beaming, “Yes, exactly!”

The final stop is further down the hallway, no longer soft and padded with plush red and gold carpeting. More practical things dot the walls – calendars, schedules, meals for the week, and the floor is a simple, dark wood.

Victor hands Yuuri a key. “Here's your room,” Victor smiles. “The tailor will be down later to take your measurements for your uniform – lucky you, you get something a little more posh than the kitchen and laundry staff. I need my personal assistant to look good in public. I was going to order pants, but – would you prefer a skirt?”

“No,” Yuuri says, a little too quickly. “Ah, I mean – pants are fine.”

Victor eyes him for a moment. Then, without warning, he grips the hem of Yuuri's pencil skirt, finger curling hotly on his thighs, and tugs it down where – where, Yuuri realizes belatedly, it had been riding up on the curve of his leg.

“Pants it is,” Victor smirks, as Yuuri ducks his head in shame. “You’ll get your uniform if, after your trial period, I decide to hire you full time. Now, you have my number – you have today to settle in, but just to give you a little test... What do we have later today?”

Yuuri blinks, fumbling for the sleek black work phone they've given him and quickly checks Victor's calendar. “Ah,” he murmurs, “Welcome Makkachin home.”

Victor winks, something soft and playful in his expression. “Exactly. See you at...?”

“Four,” Yuuri says, firm. He checks the clock on the screen – nearly five hours from now. Plenty of time to get settled.

Victor smiles, brightly. “Feel free to change into something more comfortable. Particularly some new shoes, hm?”

Yuuri takes a moment to register what Victor said. Then, his heart plummets into his stomach.

* * *

At four in the afternoon, Yuuri stands, nervous, waiting for a certain Makkachin to show up. He wonders if knowing who Makkachin is is part of the assignment – there are no instructions, nothing other than _greet Makkachin_, so perhaps the less Victor-savvy employee would think Makkachin is a person and not Victor's beloved standard poodle.

Still, though, Yuuri isn't sure what Victor wants him to do with Makkachin. Take her for a walk? Give her a bath?

A car pulls up to the driveway, curving around the fountain and fresh blooms out front, to pull up directly in front of the door. Yuuri tries to hide how impressed he is by the sleek blue Maserati – even the dog travels in style, here – and holds his breath as the door opens.

Makkachin comes bounding out, right towards him. Yuuri barely has time to register what's happening before sixty pounds of pure fluff bowls him over, knocking him back onto the grass. Despite the shock, he can't help but giggle as Makkachin licks up his chin, prods around his face and hair with her wet nose.

“Makka!” Yuuri hears, somewhere to his left, “Down, girl! Down!”

Victor half-runs towards them, unable to completely mask his amusement as Makkachin ignores him in favor of licking Yuuri's face one more time. Finally, as Victor approaches, Makkachin pulls away from Yuuri to bound happily into her owner's arms.

“Oh, who's a good girl?” Victor coos, scratching behind her head, “Who's a good girl?”

Makkachin licks him, for good measure, leaping around Victor's legs and wagging her tail with abandon. It makes a warm, fuzzy feeling blossom in Yuuri's chest to see Victor smile so genuinely. Even the soft, warm glances Victor had given him during the interview are nothing compared to the expression on his face as Makkachin stands up on her back legs and Victor scratches behind her ears.

He blinks and thinks to himself, _wait – am I really jealous of a _dog?

Victor turns to him, eyes so bright, the same color as the brilliant spring sky outside. “It seems Makkachin is the one who greeted you,” he giggles. Makkachin pads over to Yuuri, sniffing at his legs and wagging his tail. “Aw, she likes you! Well, congratulations Yuuri, you've passed my first test!”

Victor's words hit him.

“Wait,” Yuuri stammers, “Test?”

Victor nods, sagely. “I absolutely couldn't work with someone Makkachin didn't get along with! She's a very good judge of character, you know.”

Yuuri snorts, flushing just a little. Victor has kind of a goofy smile on his face, eyes sparkling with glee. Yuuri likes that expression, likes how happy Victor looks – it makes his cheeks feel hot, his heart pound.

Then, suddenly, the happy expression is gone. Yuuri frowns and turns to see – _ah_.

A stunningly handsome alpha gets out of the car, tall and broad and at the peak of his virility. Yuuri takes in the bespoke suit, the sleek black shoes, the strong, powerful jaw.

There's a slight brush of scent, musky and dark, and Yuuri's omega instincts immediately kick into high gear. He averts his eyes, curls his shoulders so he's smaller – and he notes, out of the corner of his eye, that Victor seems to do the opposite. He puts his hands on his hips, sets his lips into a pout, and stares down his husband.

_Oh, good, _Yuuri thinks, frustrated, fighting hard against the little omega alarm bells ringing in his head as he stops trying to make himself smaller, _he'll think I'm weak, some – some silly, slavish omega, when clearly he wants someone more confident like him_.

“Hello, darling,” grins Dmitry Ivanovich Sokolov, pressing a firm kiss to Victor's cheek.

“What a surprise,” Victor smiles, softly, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

“Mm,” Dmitry nuzzles into Victor's neck, hovering over a faded bond mark, the sharp puncture scar of an alpha claiming his omega. He kisses there, protectively, “My trip was cut short. Wanted to see you.”

Victor shudders, and Yuuri feels – he feels like he's an accidental voyeur to something very intimate. They're on the front lawn – gardeners tend the plants, the valet sits in the car, and Dmitry breathes deeply, sensually against Victor's neck, broad hands running up and down Victor's arms, showing just the barest hint of shoulder as they tug on Victor's shirt.

Then, Dmitry tugs the elastic out of Victor's hair, stroking through the strands until it cascades in soft waves down his back. It seems intimate, sweet – and Yuuri can't help but start in shock when he sees the flash of hurt on Victor's face, just for a second. Then, the fake smile comes back, and Yuuri swallows, nervously.

Dmitry stiffens, all of a sudden. “Vitya, what's that smell?”

Victor blinks, slowly opening his eyes as if coming out of a daze. “Smell?”

“There's an unfamiliar smell, in the house,” Dmitry tuts, though the angry set of his jaw sends a thrill of fear through Yuuri.

Then – then, Dmitry turns to Yuuri, stares at him, and Yuuri finds it nearly impossible to stop the omega appeasement signals blaring in his mind. He stares at his feet, toeing at the earth and not answering.

“New candidate for my personal assistant,” Victor says, clipped, “Just started his trial period today. I didn't – I'm sorry, alpha, we hadn't gotten to de-scenting for the day, and I assumed I'd have more time...”

Dmitry's gaze softens. “It was a mistake,” he soothes, kissing Victor's cheek once more. “Make sure you get to it by dinner, mm?”

Victor nods. He looks contrite – his lips tremble, his eyebrows are furrowed.

“Well,” Dmitry booms, “I'm going to my office to work. See you in the evening, darling.”

With that, he nods to a butler, who follows him into the house, carrying his matching luggage set on a cart.

Victor sighs, staring at Yuuri apologetically. “Mm, silly me,” he smiles, “Forgetting the house rules. Let's get you to the tailor, then, and then I’ll give you our house de-scenting collection – shampoo, conditioner, soap, a spray. Would it be too much to ask that you shower with them this evening?”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri murmurs, trying to still his pounding heart. Dmitry is virile, even with his muted scent, and it makes Yuuri nervous. _Stupid instincts_, he thinks, _I'm supposed to be more evolved than this!_

Still, though, he follows Victor into the house, noting the little bits of alpha Dmitry has left on his way in. Makkachin pads in after, still wagging her tail in delight, and Yuuri thinks, _huh – Makkachin didn't greet Dmitry at all. I wonder if she doesn't like him?_

* * *

There are flowers all over the house, lovely, fresh blooms – they smelled so fragrantly that Yuuri had barely realized the lack of human scents. Now, though, he notices. The house smells sterile, the flowers barely masking the vast amounts of scent-neutralizer sprayed throughout, the scent diffusers on the windows and shelves.

His room smells like a hospital. Victor offered him a fresh bouquet for his desk, as if he’d noticed how Yuuri’s nose had wrinkled that evening, which Yuuri thought was very sweet.

Yuuri's alarm blares early in the morning, six sharp, and he groans and rubs sleep from his eyes all the way to the kitchens for breakfast with the staff at six thirty. He's used to rising early – he did all the time at university, and during the busy season at the inn, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

“Hi!” Chirps a friendly, far too happy voice from right beside Yuuri.

Yuuri turns, slowly, still blinking away his exhaustion, and sees a gorgeous omega with dark skin, brown-black eyes, and the longest eyelashes Yuuri has ever seen.

“Hi,” he manages, stifling a yawn.

“Hi! I'm Phichit,” says Phichit, grinning. He's wearing a starched white button up and khaki slacks and cute little mary-jane style shoes with white socks. “I'm sous chef to Christophe Giacometti – you must be the new personal assistant candidate!”

Yuuri nods, trying to make sense of words this early.

They enter the kitchens, where a tall, tan, blonde alpha is refilling a pot of steaming coffee. Phichit grins at him and waves, giggly and eager. “Hi, Chris!”

Yuuri takes a cup of coffee, zombie-like, and drinks it black. It's a pretty good spread, considering. There are little pastries, crusty bread, jam, butter – a pot of oatmeal sits, bubbling, on the stove.

“Did you see? Dmitry came back yesterday,” Phichit gossips with Chris. “I wonder why.”

A few other people shuffle in, yawning, taking coffee and pastries.

“At least Victor is more relaxed about the scenting thing,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. “You must be new, right? The new personal assistant?”

“Candidate,” Yuuri admits. He takes a bite of bread with jam. “I'm Yuuri.”

Phichit snorts. “Yuuri, hm? Hey, Yuri!” he calls to a slight boy with a mop of blonde hair – another omega. “The new guy has the same name as you!”

The boy – Yuri, apparently, stands up and points a slice of bread in Yuuri's direction, threateningly. “Huh?” he snaps, “No way! We can't have two Yuris running around here, that'll be way too confusing.”

“You're right,” Phichit says, trying very hard to hide his laughter. “We'll call you... Yurio!”

“I like it,” pipes up a redheaded beta woman beside Yuri, laughing, “Yurio.”

“Fuck no!” Yuri snaps, “I was here first, you asshole.”

“Okay, Yurio,” Phichit snorts into his breakfast. Then he turns to Yuuri and whispers, conspiratorially, “He's our youngest staff member – part time. Looking to go to full time once he turns eighteen next week.”

Yuuri nods in amusement as Yuri splutters behind him. He turns away, back to Chris, and says, “This is all quite good, thank you.”

“Thank Phichit,” Chris says, winking across the table to him. “He made those croissants and baked the bread. I daresay he might be better than me.”

Phichit blushes. “Thank you, Chris, I-”

At that moment, the doors slam open, and a fuming Yakov Feltsman storms into the kitchen.

“Eep,” Phichit squeaks, “I feel bad for whoever he's looking-”

“_Yuuri Katsuki!_”

Phichit winces next to him, and Yuuri's heart drops. It's not even seven on his first full day of work, and apparently he's managed to piss off the head of staff. He pokes his head out towards Yakov, raising a trembling hand to indicate he's there.

Yakov fixes a steely glance on him and shouts, “Why are you not in the gym?”

Yuuri blinks. “The, uh,” he manages, throat very dry, “The gym?”

“Yes!” Yakov snaps. “Where Victor is, where you're supposed to be.”

“But,” Yuuri whimpers, pulling out his phone with shaking hands, “But, I checked my calendar-”

“It doesn't matter! Go, now! Don't make me tell you twice!”

Yuuri flees, drinking the rest of the coffee so fast it scalds his throat. Behind him, he hears Yuri burst out laughing, hears Yakov turn to start yelling at him, instead.

Yuuri bursts into the gym, gasping for breath, and rests his hands on his knees to gasp out, “S-so sorry, didn't know you wanted me here, could have sworn I checked-”

“It's okay,” chirps Victor, over the slow hum of an elliptical. “I've only been here, alone, for a half hour.”

Yuuri doesn't answer, still trying to catch his breath, though his stomach lurches unpleasantly at Victor's tone.

The elliptical slows, Yuuri's head still swimming in confusion, and he can't quite bear to look up. It's his first full day, and he's already fucked something up-

“Oh!” Victor's voice comes, surprised, “It seems I forgot to put it on my calendar.”

Yuuri shoots upright, relief flooding through him. Relief, and a not insignificant amount of annoyance.

“Oh dear,” Victor says, again, sounding genuinely contrite, “I hope Yakov didn't give you too hard a time about it...”

Yuuri doesn't answer. He doesn't quite know what a _hard time_ from Yakov looks like, but he thinks it might be Yakov yelling to leave the kitchen immediately, half way through his breakfast.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, gripping Yuuri's hands in his, “It's important that we be honest with each other. How hard of a time did Yakov give you?”

He's endearingly serious. Yuuri meets his gaze and, good lord, his upset expression and pouting lips make it hard to stay mad at him.

“Um,” Yuuri mumbles, looking away with flushed pink cheeks, “Maybe he yelled? A little? In front of everyone at the breakfast table?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Victor cries, flinging his arms around Yuuri. Yuuri squeaks at the sudden physical contact, the warm, sweaty body suddenly enveloping him with complete sincerity. “Don't worry, I'll clear everything up, I'll tell him to apologize...”

He chatters on. Yuuri thinks, a little cattily, that it's not Yakov who should really apologize-

And then, Victor's scent hits him. He couldn't smell him yesterday, of course, because of the neutralizers, but this – Yuuri's eyes widen, his breathing quickens. Victor's arms and scent wrap around him like a warm blanket, musky after his workout, deep, rich sandalwood with clove.

Yuuri becomes hyper-aware of Victor's body, how his head rests on the open space above Victor's shirt, right by the bond mark and the pulsing vein in his long neck, how the slight swell of his breast – or really, Yuuri thinks dreamily, those could just be his pectoral muscles – and mound of his nipple press into his arm and shoulder. His breathing, heavy from the workout, brushes lightly against Yuuri's ear.

Something between Yuuri's thighs _burns_, his lower body flooded with a warm and tingling feeling.

“Oh?” Victor asks, sounding delighted, “Are we still hugging?”

It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that, drunk on Victor's scent, he's dug his fingers into the bare small of Victor's back, holding him tighter.

“Sorry!” Yuuri squeaks, all but leaping back and out of Victor's arms. “Sorry! It's been a long morning! I wasn't thinking!”

What seems like disappointment flashes over Victor's face, but he recovers quickly, and says, “Not to worry, Yuuri.”

Victor's scent still clings to Yuuri's starched white collar even as he pulls back to stretch out his body, post workout.

Yuuri can't help but focus in on him. His exercise clothing is skin-tight, his shorts black and barely to his mid-thighs. The pronounced muscle of his inner thigh is visible through the fabric, as is the line of what seems to be very skimpy underwear. His ass is _amazing, _round and supple, muscular but just plush enough to jiggle every time he moves.

He's wearing an athletic shirt, a crop top, almost like a sports bra – Yuuri is a little surprised, considering the masculine attire he'd worn yesterday, but he supposes it's up to Victor whether or not he feels comfortable enough go topless when he works out.

Male omegas can sometimes get away with it, so long as their breasts are small enough – and Yuuri thinks in annoyance of the double standard. When he's bigger, which often happened during exam season and post-grad right before conferences, so his breasts were more pronounced, he needed to wear bras almost everywhere – but that's only because of his weight gain, not because his figure is particularly feminine. When he had been focused on working out, he was often mistaken for a beta, and could wear whatever the hell he wanted.

A trickle of sweat drips down the line of Victor's clavicle, slipping underneath the line of his shirt, right between his breasts, and Yuuri's mouth goes very dry.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, innocently, “Help me stretch?”

Yuuri nearly chokes. Victor swings one of his legs up behind him, one hand outstretched, the other gripping his ankle.

“Help me balance,” Victor laughs, and Yuuri rips his gaze away from Victor's inner thigh, slowly creeping upwards. Yuuri grabs Victor's hand, who leans more of his body weight against him, and Yuuri finds it easier to breathe now that Victor's ass isn't in full view.

Victor stretches one leg, then the other, then bends over to touch his toes. Luckily, or perhaps not, Yuuri is standing in front of him still and not behind.

“Press on my back, Yuuri,” Victor instructs, and Yuuri does, on the bare, sticky skin. Victor's hair, in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, flops forward.

Then, Victor drops to the matted floor, legs spread as far apart as they'll go – and Yuuri looks away, deliberately.

“Mm, press on my back again, please?” Victor asks as he leans forward on his forearms.

Yuuri gulps, stepping behind Victor, overcome with _something_ and he doesn't know what. It's humiliating – objectifying! - that he's ogling his own employer this way, but Victor's scent is still clinging to him and god, the cool feeling of Victor's skin, his body – the way he moans, almost sensually as Yuuri helps him stretch...

It feels like torture by the time it's over. Victor smiles at him, gives him another grateful hug (Yuuri doesn't remember being warned about hugs in the intake), and saunters over to the in-suite shower in their at home gym – Yuuri tries not to watch his ass move as he walks away, tries to keep his gaze up, and he mostly succeeds.

* * *

Victor sprays de-scenting spray on him when he comes out of the shower, and without Victor's scent clouding his nostrils, Yuuri's heartrate drops back down to normal.

Well, mostly.

They eat breakfast together, a smoothie bowl in Victor's case, hot black tea, and some leftover pastries that Chris brings up. Out of his exercise clothes, Victor returns to his easy, regal elegance. Simple v-neck shirt, dark blue jeans.

“For the record,” Victor explains, “I work out at six every morning, except Sunday. You only officially work Monday through Friday – unless, of course, you want overtime! On those days, if you could be there by six thirty, I'd really appreciate it, since I know you're up that early anyway. Then, we can get breakfast!”

“Um, what did you want me to do, during your workout?” Yuuri stammers, thinking to Victor's ass in his exercize pants and trying to fight off the mental image.

“Help me stretch,” Victor shrugs. “Go over my appointments for the day, et cetera.”

Yuuri nods, uncertainly. “Should I get all dressed up?” he asks, gesturing to his temporary work attire, still waiting for the tailor to provide a uniform, “I mean, it doesn't make much sense, if I'm helping you work out.”

“Anything is fine,” Victor waves his hand, “So long as you're dressed by the start of my appointments. Oh!” Victor's face lights up, “Oh! Or, you could work out _with _me!”

Yuuri has a mental image of gorgeously athletic Victor, with his supermodel height and body, next to his painfully average figure on an elliptical and his stomach does an unpleasant flip. “Uh, no – no thank you, but I appreciate the offer.”

The strange look that seems like disappointment passes over Victor's face again, but he doesn't say anything, only nods.

“Well,” Victor says after a while, unbelievably chipper, though it's not even eight in the morning, “Ready to start the day?”

* * *

After his disastrous first twelve hours, Yuuri is very on edge for the position. Victor _does_ clear everything up with Yakov, who summarily snaps at anyone who dares give Yuuri a hard time about it (mostly young Yuri Plisetsky, who is taking the “same name” thing very seriously), but it still – well, the yelling, then the strange, strange way he reacted at Victor's scent... Not the ingredients for a peaceful first day on the job.

The hours are odd – the word Yuuri would use to describe it is _old fashioned_. He's the maidservant expected to be with the omega-lord when he wakes, or practically so, to remind him of all his appointments, to help him prepare for bed, though luckily that’s never very late. Since Victor himself is up so early, he’s normally nodding off on Yuuri’s shoulder by ten at night.

When Victor has appointments, haircuts or facials or interviews, Yuuri keeps to himself and wanders the halls. He chats with Phichit, who has long stretches of free time between meals and then suddenly needs to disappear for hours on end to cook, and who is such a sunny person it's almost blinding.

He makes sure Victor isn't running low on any of his favorite products, and mostly he just... Keeps him company. Lets him chatter on about whatever he wants. Yuuri actually finds it quite pleasant, as far as jobs go – Victor is genuinely funny, a little silly, and very easy to talk to. Yuuri finds himself looking forward to their conversations, even if he still feels guilty for staring at his ass when he worked out that first day. Now, he takes his phone down to the gym with him, and keeps his eyes firmly on the screen, no matter what Victor is wearing.

He does work out shirtless, one day, and Yuuri catches one glimpse of a bare breast and pink areola and flees to the bathroom to collect himself.

“So, Yuuri,” Victor asks one day at lunch, all of a sudden, “Tell me about yourself.”

Yuuri blinks. “Um. Me?”

“No,” Victor says, flatly, “The other Yuuri.”

Yuuri can't help but laugh at that. “Well, there is another Yuri,” he offers, and Victor smiles back. “Um. What do you want to know?”

“Anything! Why you wanted to start working here, what growing up in Japan was like,” Victor's gaze slides to him, nonchalantly, “If you're seeing an alpha...”

Yuuri nearly chokes. “A-alpha? No! No way, not for me! I mean, maybe one day, but – no!”

Victor blinks, a little surprised by the force with which Yuuri answered the question. “Ah,” he says, a strange little lilt in his tone. “And... I mean, growing up?”

“Growing up in Japan?” Yuuri cocks his head, already going bright pink in embarrassment over his outburst. “Ah. It's nice. I think I mentioned, my parents own an inn, so I'm pretty used to working strange hours. It's really nice, it's an onsen, so it's an inn with hot springs attached.”

“Hot springs,” Victor sighs, happily. “I’ve always wanted to visit those – you know, I got the big bath downstairs installed because I love the feeling of relaxing in the water.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, head resting on his arm.

“And there’s this castle, an ancient castle, with _ninjas_...”

“Ninjas?” Victor’s eyes sparkle, and he jolts forward in sudden interest. “Wow, I’ve always wanted... I haven’t traveled much. You have, though! That’s so impressive.”

Yuuri starts. Lord Victor Nikiforov, actual nobility, is telling him he’s impressive. “Ah, I mean, just for school,” he says, flushing, “Boston is nice. Oxford is nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home, though. Sometimes I miss it.”

Victor smiles, wistfully. “I understand what you mean,” he sighs. “I haven’t been back to St. Petersburg in a long time. I think you’d like it there – lots of history. You did study history, right?”

Yuuri flushes even pinker, if possible. “And classic literature. It’s – it’s nothing, I mean, who even cares if you don’t have a PhD, right?” He laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound too fake.

Victor just stares at him, impressed. “You’re so smart, Yuuri,” he coos.

_He's so nice,_ Yuuri thinks. _This is nice. I hope I can keep working here, that Victor likes me, too._

Yuuri runs into the alpha, Dmitry, alone once. Dmitry smiles at him, warm and friendly, but Yuuri can't help but feel – by the end of their chat, his back is against the wall, because Dmitry kept boxing him in.

Maybe it's unintentional, Yuuri reasons, Dmitry has a big personality – he needs to in his line of work_._

But then, a little while later, Yakov pulls him to the side and warns, “Yuuri, a word of advice – don't ever let Dmitry catch you alone.”

Yuuri swallows, suddenly very cold.

* * *

Dmitry has asked Victor to dinner.

Yuuri realizes – he hadn't noticed, so caught up in his new job and enjoying Victor's company, but in the week or so that Dmitry has been at home, he hasn't seen him talk to Victor once.

Victor doesn't seem very happy about it, Yuuri notes as he helps him pick out an outfit. He seems more stressed than usual, rifling through a walk-in closet for something sleek but pretty, tight but not overly so.

The food is _wonderful_. Duck confit and fat-roasted potatoes, braised broccoli with a rich, garlicky sauce. Yuuri eats, noting the stiffness in Victor's back, the small, careful, deliberate bites.

Dinner is mostly genial. Victor and Dmitry make pleasant conversation, though it's a little more stilted than Yuuri and Victor's, Yuuri notes. Every once in a while, Dmitry will ask Yuuri something.

“So, how do you like working here?” Dmitry says, taking a bite of potato.

Yuuri covers his mouth, swallowing the bit of broccoli. “It’s good,” he says, softly. He’s trying to meet Dmitry’s gaze, but there’s something about him that makes Yuuri nervous to do so. “I like it. I like the staff, I like the position – I like, ah, that I’m being useful.”

Dmitry smiles. “That’s good,” he booms. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ve been thinking that just having someone around would be useful, especially since I’m gone so often.” He turns to Victor apologetically, “I’m sorry, darling. You know how work is.”

Victor smiles, softly. “It’s good to have you home, now.”

“Darling,” Dmitry says, grinning, “Did I tell you, on this last trip, we talked about a new merger with U-Bit?”

Victor’s eyes go wide. “No, you didn’t! That’s exciting.”

They begin to talk tech – or, well, Dmitry talks, and Victor makes appreciative, impressed noises every once in a while. Yuuri zones out, going back to his food.

He zones back in when Dmitry says, seemingly out of nowhere, “Darling, I heard that you were thinking of cutting your hair.”

Victor stiffens. “I might have thought about it, once or twice,” he says, carefully. “Just, you know – for a change.”

Dmitry sighs, the sound rumbling through his entire broad body. “Darling,” he tuts, “Your hair is lovely. _You're _lovely. There's no need to cut it.”

Yuuri thinks that’s a sweet thing to say.

Victor mumbles, “It's _my_ hair, Dmitry. Alpha.”

Yuuri freezes, just for a moment, once again overcome with the sensation that he’s missing something important. He digs into his broccoli forcefully, coughing as he swallows a piece a little too quickly. A warm hand splays on Yuuri’s back, and he notes Victor looking at him in concern. He flashes Victor a watery smile, taking deep gulps of water and clearing his throat, awkwardly.

Dmitry doesn't even look at him, gray eyes sharp and focused only on Victor. Yuuri worries that he’s going to yell, get angry... But when he speaks, his tone is dripping with sympathy. “You know I want to look out for you,” he says, “Most of my colleagues are married to female omegas. _I_ think you're pretty, but your strong jawline... Your long hair frames your face so nicely, and it hides that _little_ imperfection.”

Cold, coursing anger surges through Yuuri. His silverware clatters out of his hands and onto the table. Instantly, though, the hand on his back squeezes, almost painful – and when Yuuri's gaze meets Victor's, Victor gives him a barely imperceptible shake of the head.

“It was just a thought,” Victor murmurs, staring down at his food.

Dmitry's gaze is still so awfully, painfully sympathetic. “I know, darling. It was just a thought.”

They go back to their food, and Yuuri barely remembers how to breathe.

* * *

Yuuri catches Victor's hand after dinner, once the alpha is gone.

“Victor,” he begins, uncertainly, “Are you-”

“Don't,” Victor says, flatly. He looks so tired. “I'm sorry, Yuuri – I think I need to be by myself, tonight.”

“But, Victor-”

“Please,” Victor whispers, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, the exhaustion is gone – and on his face is a bright, plastic smile. “I'll see you tomorrow morning, hm? Bright and early.”

Yuuri nods, uncertainly, and watches with apprehension as Victor makes his way upstairs, alone.

Dismissed far earlier than normal, Yuuri wanders aimlessly back to his quarters – only to barrel right into Phichit, who barely manages to avoid disaster by catching the bottle of wine before it shatters on the floor.

“Yuuri!” Phichit gasps, pulling him into a tight hug.

_What's with this house and hugging_, Yuuri thinks.

“You're done early!” Phichit continues. “I'm so glad – you can come celebrate Yuri Plisetsky's birthday!”

Yuuri blinks, mind still roiling from dinner. “Are you sure he wants me there?” he asks, skeptically.

“Of course he does,” Phichit gushes, “He just doesn't know how to talk to people. C'mon, we have lots of fun things to do! We never see you, please Yuuri?”

Yuuri gives in. It's been a strange couple of weeks, and he could go for _fun_.

Fun, which turns out to be bottles and bottles of wine just-barely-subpar for the alpha's tastes – which means it gets turned over to the staff to drink. Yuuri drinks. He drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and spends half the night cuddling with Phichit, who is lovely and warm and smells like cinnamon and anise.

At some point in the night, they turn on some music, confident that they staff quarters are far enough away from the Lords of the house. Yuuri finds Yuri, shouts, “Dance with me!”

“You suck at dancing,” Yuri shouts back.

“No I don’t!” Yuuri snaps. “I’ll prove it! I bet I’m a better dancer than you!”

“Oh, you’re on,” Yuri growls, pushing up his sleeves-

After, Yuuri drinks a little bit more. He’s hot and sweaty from winning the dance battle, and he unbuttons his shirt, trying not to overheat. His clothes are awfully constricting, he thinks.

Yakov is telling a story, the story of his family, how after the fall of the Soviet Union they became international tradesmen, made their fortunes, and now own a small shipping empire in Russia. For some reason, this makes Yuuri very emotional, and he clings to Yakov while crying, “That’s so good that your family could do that.”

Then, Yakov, eyes misting over, brings out a photo album. Yuuri recognizes him, albeit younger with a full head of hair, and he nearly bursts into tears all over again when he sees the little kid beside him. It’s Victor, with chubby, rosy cheeks and marshmallow-puffy jacket, holding Yakov’s hand on a frozen pond.

“His little ice skates,” Yuuri wails, “His little, teeny blades-”

Yakov flips the page, showing an even younger Victor, big baby eyes staring into the camera and first few teeth gnawing on a plastic ring. Yuuri is surprised, even in his drunkenness, at how mundane the photos look. He’d expected grand hallways, Victor dressed in ridiculous, impractical but imperial looking baby clothes, not a faded blue _C__heburashka_ shirt.

“We still work for the Nikiforovs on paper, which is ironic, since-”

“It’s so nice,” Yuuri sniffles, cutting him off, hugging Yakov even tighter, “How you care about Victor.”

That’s apparently Yakov’s tipping point. Everyone else has vanished, so Yakov yells at him to go to bed, as Yuuri takes another drink.

Yuuri turns a corner and opens the door to what he thinks is his room... Only to find Yuri Plisetsky and an alpha he doesn't recognize, both half dressed, surrounded by cleaning supplies.

“Um,” he asks, as they both stare at him in horror, “Um. Where's my room?”

“I don't know!” Yuri shrieks, slamming the door in his face.

Yuuri blinks at the closed door and turns to walk in the other direction. There's a set of stairs, not too far away, and he sways in front of them. He doesn't remember his room being on a different floor, but, well, it's worth a shot...

* * *

The alarm the next day is worse than usual. Yuuri groans, hiding under the covers for just a few more precious moments of sleep. Fuck, he's so hungover. It feels like someone dropkicked him in the head.

_Victor is going to be so pissed,_ Yuuri thinks, as he scrambles into his black slacks and white shirt.

He doesn't even remember how he got home last night, let alone changed into his pajamas.

In the gym, Victor his wearing yoga pants and doing a very impressive, and scintillating, downward facing dog, which somehow makes Yuuri feel even worse.

_Good, _he thinks, miserably, _my cute employer with his really cute butt is going to think I'm an unprofessional slob_.

Victor, hearing his arrival, peers at Yuuri between his legs, and immediately snaps up. He runs over, wraps his arms and scent around him, and nuzzles into his cheek with a cry of, “Yuuri!”

“Um,” Yuuri stammers, hoping he doesn't still smell like alcohol, “Um. Hi, Victor!”

“Yuuri,” Victor beams, pulling back from the hug to hold him at arms length. “Yuuri, I have some great news! You've done such good work that I've decided to hire you permanently. You got the job!”

Yuuri smiles up at him, that sweet, genuine grin so infectious.

“Oh,” he says, not sure how to respond. Then, it hits him. “Wait, _what?_”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C&P:  
Wow actually some smut this time! Just a quick note that this chapter contains some very explicit Victor x Other. Don't worry though, Yuuri is involved... Kinda lol (check the tags). Also, that scene is 100% consensual, but it does have some Dmitry being Dmitry. 
> 
> A quick note about how I view male omega anatomy, it's pretty much the same as what a human female has except instead of a clitoris they have a longer (3-5 in) but still pretty thin "cocklet" that's capable of ejaculation. It's not often used for penetration, but it can be. I dunno, there are so many variations on a/b/o and a/b/o anatomy so no worries if you were picturing something different.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos!!! If you liked this chapter, please let me know :D

Somehow, the first thing Yuuri learns about Victor after he’s officially offered the position is that he _knits_. He’s coming up to help Victor before bed, or, more realistically, he’s coming up to chat with Victor while Victor puts products on his face – but instead of being in the bathroom, Victor is propped up in bed with a pair of knitting needles and a half-done sweater.

“My mother taught me how to knit,” Victor says, proudly. “I also learned embroidery, after the wedding. I love sitting in the parlor and embroidering, like it’s a hundred years ago and I’m some genteel noble omega. Would a noble omega embroider? Did you ever learn?”

Yuuri giggles. There’s something so cute about Victor, face mask on, knitting in bed.

“I mostly just learned to patch things up,” Yuuri admits, watching the hypnotic motion of Victor’s fingers.

“Ah,” Victor says, delighted. “My favorite pair of underwear ripped at the seams, maybe you could fix it?”

It takes Yuuri a moment to realize that Victor is joking. He snorts, shaking his head, and Victor smiles back at him.

“What do you do for fun?” Victor asks, as he continues to work.

Yuuri blinks. “Oh,” he says, “Um. Not much, honestly. I read, I guess, and I really like to work out.”

“Why won’t you work out with me?” Victor whines.

Yuuri flushes. “You’re much better than me.”

Victor pouts.

“Yuuri, try this on,” he says, suddenly, “I need to make sure it can fit a human person.”

Yuuri laughs at the wording, but he lets Victor pull the half-finished sweater over his head. It’s so soft – a little oversized, which Yuuri loves.

“It’s perfect,” Yuuri says, nuzzling into the soft yarn before he realizes what he’s doing. It’s natural, he supposes – omegas love soft things. It’s still a little embarrassing, though, so he pulls the sweater off with a light blush dusting his cheeks.

Victor grins as Yuuri pulls it off. “I’m glad,” he says, softly. Then, he starts. “Oh! It smells like you.”

Yuuri winces. “Ah, sorry! I hadn’t, I mean,” he rambles, “I was just about to shower but I just came up the stairs, and there are a lot of them, and, uh, I… I can wash it.”

Victor shakes his head, still smiling. “It’s too delicate for that right now, but don’t worry, I’ll keep it here,” he winks. “It can be our little secret.”

Yuuri smiles and nods, and Victor goes back to knitting.

* * *

Yuuri is... An enigma.

He’s lovely, Victor thinks. Diligent. As a personal assistant, the only mistake he made was the one that was Victor’s own fault. Victor has never been more prompt for his appointments – his personal stylist told him so, both of them buried nose-deep in the latest issue of _Vogue_.

He really needed to hire someone to help him take control of his own spiraling life. The fact that Yuuri is sweet, and funny, and – incredibly excitable, in a way that’s very endearing, is all just a nice bonus.

Yuuri got upset on his behalf. It was gratifying – sometimes Victor wonders if he’s just being crazy when Dmitry pushes his buttons just so and makes him feel angry and grumpy and insecure, but knowing that someone else agrees with him makes him feel immeasurably better.

Yuuri likes the gardens, since they remind him of home – just being outside, with the fresh blooms, natural scents surrounding them... Unlike the painfully sterile inside, washed down once a day in the evenings.

He’s sweet, and thoughtful, and so, so pretty. Victor could stare for hours at those lashes that go for miles, at his full lips, at the little crease he gets between his perfect eyebrows when he’s concentrating hard.

Victor’s favorite bits are the more subtle ones – the meals they share together, where he slowly, carefully extracts more detail about Yuuri’s life. He had a little toy poodle as a kid, and when he showed Victor a picture of it, the dog had looked just like a miniature Makkachin. When Yuuri plays with Makkachin, rubbing her soft, furry belly with glee. She _loves_ him, and Victor thinks she’s not the only one.

Once, Victor is worrying his lip in front of the dresser on his rest day, still dressed in the satin slip of his pajamas, holding up two different outfits and panicking over which would look better since today he’s having a luncheon with some of Dmitry’s tech colleagues – and Yuuri practically shouts, so overcome with feeling, “Victor Nikiforov, it doesn’t matter what you wear, because you would look beautiful in anything!”

Then, he’d realized what he’d said and gone red as a ripe heirloom tomato, and Victor couldn’t help but hug him.

Yuuri is emotional, and loud, and not what Victor expected his personal assistant to be like, and it’s perfect.

There are a few strange little things, though – Yuuri’s glaringly obvious low self esteem, even if he doesn’t say anything. There’s the way he looks longingly at the workout equipment, but refuses to take part. Like a child looking at a piece of cake their parents told them they can’t have.

Perhaps Yuuri is insecure about his figure, which Victor thinks he absolutely should _not_ be. He’s fairly athletic, and he’s said he also used to be up quite early to work out, prior to his last job. He’s a little softer now, perhaps, but Victor can still see the ripple of muscle when he moves.

Not that Victor has a problem with softness – quite the opposite. He adores Yuuri’s little swell around his middle, the softness in his body when they hug – and he especially loves Yuuri’s thick, powerful thighs. They’re pure muscle, and Victor thinks he’d love to squeeze them, just to confirm they’re as firm as he suspects.

He also loves Yuuri’s ass, and the way Yuuri’s ass looks in his brand new uniform. And he keeps doing all these things that accidentally show it off – squatting down to get something out of a drawer, taking the stairs two at a time when he’s in a rush.

And it’s a _problem_.

When Yuuri was being fitted for his uniform, after discarding the ghastly things he was wearing when they brought him on, they’d been playing around in front of the dressing room.

“I look so plain,” Yuuri had said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “I’m worried, you said you wanted fashionable...”

“You do look fashionable,” Victor had cooed, wrapped around him and trying very hard not to bury his face in Yuuri’s neck. “Here, though, let’s try sprucing up this shirt-”

And he’d rolled up the sleeves, and unbuttoned a few buttons, so Yuuri didn’t look quite so evangelical. Except – except, he unbuttoned one too far, and as Yuuri laughed and wriggled in his grip, he’d caught sight of a dusky nipple beneath his shirt, hard from the cold-

Victor knows, very intimately, about power imbalances in a relationship. He’s Yuuri’s _employer_, and if they entered into a relationship, he’d have the upper hand.

Yuuri clearly is interested in omegas, so that’s not a problem. He’s not subtle, and Victor sees the way he looks at him, particularly when he’s working out. Victor, too, has always had a proclivity towards his own secondary gender, with their soft breasts and their hot wetness between their legs and their sweet, sweet scents.

When Victor smelled Yuuri, that first day – jasmine and lavender, soothing and cloying and sending heat straight to Victor’s pulsing entrance... It was like a dream.

When Yuuri helped Victor braid his hair, one night, so it wouldn’t form into knots while he slept... The soft, firm motion of his hands, the way his fingers scratched Victor’s scalp, the way he let Victor sink back against him and close his eyes and feel so cared for…

He won’t try anything, though, not without very clear signals that Yuuri wants him just as badly. And even then...

Victor shakes his head. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows. He half wonders if this is really a crush, or if he’s just so lonely that he’s latching on to the first person to genuinely show interest in what he has to say.

In the meantime, though, he’ll enjoy Yuuri’s company – and maybe be more persistent that Yuuri should work out with him.

After all, he thinks it’s only fair that he should get to ogle Yuuri in his workout clothes, as well.

* * *

The weeks tick on. Dmitry leaves for days at a time, comes back for days at a time. Victor always seems happier when he’s gone – there’s a lightness to him, an enthusiasm that gets buried under Dmitry’s weight of expectation when he’s around.

One evening, after Victor returns from an appointment to get his weekly facial, he takes Yuuri’s hand and exclaims, “Come, walk with me!”

They wander through the gardens, not for the first time – but they’re so big that Yuuri still hasn’t seen them all. Gardeners tend the plants, fruits and flowering trees, year-round. It never really gets cold, here, and the beginnings of orange season hang in little citrusy globes from the trees.

“It took me a long time to get used to the weather, here,” Victor laughs as he approaches a tree.

It smells sweet, but when Yuuri gets close, a very familiar buzzing fills his ears and he jumps back with a yelp. He grabs Victor to tug him away from the bees pollinating the tree, but Victor shrugs him off with a smirk.

“They won’t harm you,” he says.

Yuuri winces. “I uh. Sorry, buzzing always makes me think of the hornets we have in Japan.”

Victor cocks his head to the side. “Japanese hornets?” he pulls his phone out and googling before Yuuri can warn him not to, “I’ve never heard of – eek!”

He locks his phone very quickly, barreling into Yuuri in fear. It’s Yuuri’s turn to laugh, and he pats Victor on the back, comfortingly.

“There aren’t any here,” he teases, one hand coming up to cup the back of Victor’s head. Victor whines and buries his face even deeper into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, shaking his head. Yuuri half suspects he looked up the hornets on purpose so he had an excuse to come in close.

“At least in Russia,” Victor whines. “Bugs have the courtesy to die for most of the year.”

Yuuri laughs again, flushing when Victor refuses to let go of him, even as they continue to walk along the garden paths. There’s a little fountain, trickling water into a blue mosaic-tiled pool, and right beside it – a metal sculpture, made of what looks like scrap.

“Huh,” Yuuri says, “What’s... What’s that?”

Victor looks at the statue fondly, in all its incongruousness. “Look,” he gestures, shifting their positions. “Look, I wanted to show you this at sunset.” He gestures to the sculpture’s shadow, not showing a hunk of metal, but curving into the graceful arc of a swan.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathes, “When the light hits it just right...”

“It makes art!” Victor grins, giddy. “Of course, some would say that it’s already art, perhaps of the more abstract variety...” His smile turns soft, fond. “My mother made it. My father, you know, she’s a mechanic, and any old scrap she had, my mother would make art of it. Sell it, sometimes, if it was a piece she was really proud of.”

Yuuri’s glance flits from it to the carved fountain, the smooth curves and gilded edges.

“You’re thinking it doesn’t match?” Victor says. He laughs, “Dmitry thought so too. He’s very into the Georgian style, you may have noticed. He hired an art historian to design the entire house that way. I insisted on this piece, though, no matter how out of place it may be. It’s from my mother, after all! Finally he agreed. I have to keep it outside, though.”

Yuuri puts his arm around Victor’s waist. He looks melancholy, staring at the sculpture, and it feels so natural when Victor rests his head against Yuuri’s.

Then, Yuuri starts, so caught up in the moment he hadn’t thought to wonder. “Your father was a mechanic?” he asks.

Victor freezes.

Yuuri jumps back immediately. “Ah! Sorry, that was really personal, I didn’t mean, forget I asked...”

Victor laughs, strained. “I forgot, I’m not supposed to tell people.” He winks at Yuuri. “It’ll be another little secret. You’ll keep it, right?”

He bites his lip, watching the swan’s neck elongate with the setting sun.

“Of course,” Yuuri murmurs. “It’s not… I mean, I like knowing more about you. Anything about you, not just… Not just what your alpha wants people to know.”

Victor offers him a wobbly smile, and Yuuri’s heart pounds.

* * *

It’s late when Yuuri finds himself in the master bedroom. He’s looking for something – a watch that belonged to his grandfather that’s mysteriously gone missing. It’s sentimental, and he’s ninety percent sure there’s no reason it would be in here, but he _needs to find it_ and it must be somewhere in the house.

He searches on the dresser, in a closet, on the bedside table... Even in a massive armoire, as though it would have found its way into Dmitry’s coat pockets.

_Where could it be_?

Victor and Dmitry had gone out to dinner, tonight, to celebrate some successful endeavor in Dmitry’s business. Victor had wanted Yuuri to be there, but Dmitry said he’d only made reservations for two, and Victor had argued that he should be able to use his position in his company to change the reservation, and Dmitry had gotten very annoyed-

So, Yuuri had assured Victor it was alright, even if Victor still looked upset. He’d eaten dinner with the staff, for a change, listening to Phichit laugh over delicious French-Thai fusion food and not quite meeting Yuri’s eye, still embarrassed that he walked in on him while he was drunk. Then, he noticed that his watch had gone missing, so he’d set out to scour the entire house.

And now, Yuuri is in the master bedroom in a last ditch attempt to find it. He remembers being in here earlier, helping Yakov de-scent the house as a favor-

Then, Yuuri hears him.

_Dmitry_.

_Don’t ever find yourself alone with him, _Yakov had said.

Yuuri panics. He takes one look at the massive armoire and, no time to think, stuffs himself inside, closing the doors behind him and hoping they won’t lock. There’s a hole in the closet, enough so Yuuri can see through, and Yuuri wonders if he’s visible through it.

Dmitry comes through the door, flushed and panting.

Yuuri panics again, wondering – if he’s getting ready for bed, he’ll almost certainly look through his closet for pajamas, but this looks like it just holds coats, but maybe it doesn’t, but how is Yuuri going to get out of here, will he have to wait until Dmitry falls asleep-

He hears a high, happy giggle, and someone comes in behind Dmitry.

Victor. He looks gorgeous, his skin aflame and his hair falling in soft waves down his back. His shirt is lacy, his pants fitting perfectly on his hips-

And Dmitry turns around, noting the giddy alcohol-flush on Victor’s cheeks, his red lips, and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Victor moans, and Yuuri squeaks and ducks his head as the sounds of wet, deep kissing come from behind the door.

“Alpha,” Victor murmurs.

Yuuri hears a growl, and he peeks out again to see Dmitry mouthing at Victor’s neck, his hand slipping below the collar of Victor’s shirt to fondle his breast. Victor moans again, and something clicks into place, just as Dmitry lowers to collar of Victor’s shirt and starts suckling at his chest.

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

Yuuri wants to die. He can’t say anything now, not when they’re getting hot and heavy and he’s – he’s hiding in their closet, for god’s sake, while they-

Oh god.

More rustling, the sounds of zippers and buckles and fabric. Something that sounds like a slap, and Victor yelps, though it dissolves into giddy giggling in an instant.

“Alpha,” Victor says again, breathy and needy, and something stirs deep in Yuuri’s belly.

More giggling, the sounds of skin against skin.

“I love your body,” Dmitry murmurs, voice muffled. “Love – love here.” Victor’s breathing gets higher, there’s a short, broken gasp, “Here, and... and here.”

Yuuri hears the wet sounds, hears Victor moaning.

“You’re so wet,” Dmitry teases him. “So wet. I haven’t even put my fingers inside of you and you’re dripping onto your thighs.”

“P-please,” Victor breathes, above the slick, wet sounds of Dmitry fondling him. “Please, put your fingers in me.”

Then, Yuuri hears a startled yelp, and he presses his eye to the keyhole as a stab of fear surges through him. He can’t see for a moment, but then Dmitry tosses Victor onto the bed, and Yuuri sees the smile on his face and the panting, desperate arch of his naked body. Dmitry turns him onto his stomach, hand groping the flesh of his ass, and god, _god_, it’s as nice naked as it is in yoga pants...

Dmitry’s cock is _large_, Yuuri can see it through the hole, dark and thick between his legs.

He realizes he’s staring and hides his face again.

“Tell me what you want,” Dmitry growls, fierce. Predatory.

“Want you,” Victor pants. The mattress squeaks as he writhes, “Want your fingers. Your cock.”

Yuuri wants to _die_.

“Mm,” Dmitry laughs, low and dangerous. “Here? You want my cock here?”

“No,” Victor gasps, and Yuuri hears – or misinterprets – the tone of his voice, and he grips the door, ready to pop out and beat Dmitry over the head with one of his silly, heavy coats if he’s hurting Victor-

He sees Dmitry, spreading Victor’s ass cheeks, rubbing his hard cock between them. Victor is trembling, down to his curled toes.

“What if I want it here?” Dmitry laughs, nails digging into Victor’s flesh, into the hard muscle and soft skin.

“You can,” Victor gasps, “You can, but please, after, I need you-”

Dmitry laughs and lifts Victor up, so he’s on hands and knees, and for a moment all Yuuri can see is Dmitry’s ass and the weight of his cock and balls between his legs, and his toes curl in disgust – but then he moves, and suddenly Yuuri can see Victor, see the curve of his ass and his pink, twitching asshole and his folds, flushed red inside and dripping, _dripping_, hot slick falling down onto the bed.

“Maybe I should go away more often,” Dmitry laughs, “If you’re this dripping wet for me.”

Yuuri feels a stab of anger, then remembers this isn’t like the dinner, he’s not supposed to be here, he shouldn’t be watching-

“For you,” Victor echoes, desperately. He spreads his legs wider, grinding his hips down onto nothing. His pink cocklet bounces, covered in slick. “Please, yes, this is for you, I’m – look at me, alpha, I’m so wet for you, I need you, need to be filled-”

“Like this?” Dmitry plunges two fingers into Victor, knuckle deep, and Victor _wails_.

“Yes,” he cries, grinding his hips down onto the fingers, his pussy making wet, squelching sounds, clutching the fingers desperately within his folds, “Yes, yes.”

“So loose,” Dmitry snorts. “Have you been fucking yourself while I’ve been gone?”

“Needed to,” Victor gasps, “Please, needed to – god, _please, _fuck me, I’ve been waiting so long...”

Dmitry fingers him, roughly, and Victor’s hips move in time with the thrusts. Slick drips out of him, down his thighs, down Dmitry’s thick fingers, onto the bed.

Yuuri – Yuuri sees, sees all of it. Sees Victor’s clenching, twitching hole, sees how his folds grasp around Dmitry’s fingers, sees the flushed pink color and the way his cocklet bobs up and down and-

There’s heat, deep in Yuuri’s belly, something throbbing between his legs and he’s felt it, before, he knows what it is, but it can’t be that because this is wrong, it’s so wrong-

Dmitry flips Victor over, one more time, and Yuuri’s eyes go wide as he sees the thick head of the cock against Victor’s twitching entrance. Victor sobs _yes, yes, yes, _again and again, as the tip sinks inside him, inch by inch. Yuuri watches, he knows he shouldn’t but he watches, as the flushed red tip gets swallowed, slowly, disappearing into Victor, then the length, the throbbing vein up the side-

Victor’s entrance is so red, he’s taking the cock so, so well, moaning and gasping and crying out the whole way.

Yuuri feels something. He feels _wet_, and with a shaking hand, he rubs at the crotch of his pants, feels the slick there.

_Oh god, _Yuuri thinks, _oh _god!

He feels it more, then, feels the heat in his body, feels the pulse between his legs, feels – oh no, he’s getting hard, his cocklet pressing just barely against his pants. Yuuri tries to adjust, tries to move position, but each jolt of fabric against his cocklet sends a thrill through him.

“Alpha,” Victor sobs, desperate and aroused, “You’re so big. So, so big, I love it, I need it.”

Dmitry _growls_, and just as Yuuri looks back to the sight outside the closet, Dmitry pulls out until the tip of his cock is visible, the head coming out with a _pop_ – and thrusts the entire length back in.

Victor shrieks, toes curling, folds quivering at the harsh thrust. Dmitry thrusts again, barely shallower, then suddenly lifts Victor and shifts their positions so Victor is on top of him, riding him, and Yuuri can’t even see Dmitry anymore.

He sees Victor, though, sees the long curtain of silver hair, sees his ass jiggling as he moves, sees his entrance, split so wide by Dmitry’s cock. Victor rides Dmitry, rides his cock, taking the thick length greedily. His folds drag along it, leaving trails of slick, his pussy clenches with each thrust, his thighs tremble.

“Turn around,” Dmitry growls, “Wanna watch your ass move.”

Victor whimpers, overwhelmed by sensation, but stays sheathed on Dmitry’s cock as he turns-

_Fuck, _Yuuri thinks, _fuck, fuck, fuck_. _Why does Dmitry have to want that, I wouldn’t be turned on if it was him on top-_

Victor leans over, a curtain of hair falling in front of him, and gyrates his hips up and down on the cock. Yuuri sees his whole front, now, sees the fucked-out bliss on his face, his kiss-bitten lips, his full-body blush, his hard, erect cocklet, his fingers covered in slick as they stroke it with firm, slow strokes-

He pulls off Dmitry’s cock and Yuuri sees the clench of his entrance, the precum streaking his labia, the soft silver hair trailing down from his navel. Victor spreads his labia wide and puts the cock between them, rubbing his folds up and down the entire length, so his cocklet touches the thick cock.

“What are you doing?” Dmitry growls, “Thought you, hah, thought you wanted my cock.”

“I do, I-”

“Then get back on there.”

Victor lets out a whimper and spreads his pussy apart with two slick fingers, sinking down slow, slow, taking the tip then the length, not stopping until Dmitry is fully sheathed inside of him. The sounds his body makes, that _he_ makes, are obscene.

The wetness between Yuuri’s legs increases, and Yuuri grips himself there, grips his hard cocklet – as though that will stop it from happening.

“I’m gonna knot,” Dmitry growls. “M’gonna – can you take my knot inside you?”

“Yes,” Victor breathes, “Yes, knot me, knot me, alpha-”

And Yuuri watches, he watches, trembling and aroused and sick with guilt, as Dmitry’s knot travels up the length of his cock, and Victor slips two fingers under each side of his folds, dips them into his pulsing entrance alongside the cock, and _stretches _himself, still bouncing up and down on the length.

The knot touches Victor’s entrance, and Victor whimpers, eyes glassy with arousal, and Yuuri watches him go so, so wide, watches the flushed flesh contract around the knot, hears Victor moan, and gasp, and cry out as the knot is halfway in, three quarters-

And Victor sits back, with a low, shuddering gasp, as his hole shrinks with the knot fully sheathed inside him. He’s flushed down to his chest, which heaves up and down with the effort of fucking Dmitry. With a low moan, he grips his cocklet, pumping it up and down until he shudders and comes, down the length of Dmitry’s cock, down his thighs.

Dmitry reaches up to put a hand over Victor’s hip, runs his thumb along it.

“Mm,” He laughs, “Forgot how good you were.”

Victor, still panting, says nothing. His hair sticks to his back with sweat, sweat which drips down his chest and thighs. Yuuri can smell him, can smell his arousal from here, and even more slick gushes out of him.

It’s over.

It’s over, and suddenly everything crashes down on Yuuri at once.

_Oh god, _he thinks, _I’m such an awful, awful pervert – I just watched my employer have sex with his alpha! I watched, I could have hid my face, but I watched!_

Yuuri buries his face in his hands, still miserably aroused, and tries not to cry. He feels awful, like the worst kind of scum, and now all he can do is wait for them to fall asleep and hobble out with his hard cocklet and no dignity.

He isn’t sure how long he waits. The sounds of rustling settle down, and loud snores reach Yuuri’s ears.

All of a sudden, he hears a soft, sing-song, “Yuu~ri,” and his blood runs ice cold.

He waits, hoping it’s just Victor talking in his sleep. And, well, it wouldn’t be _bad _if it turned out Victor was having sensual dreams about him.

“Yuuri, I can smell you from here. Did you forget to de-scent today?”

Yuuri swallows. He considers just staying here, just moving into the closet – or, alternatively, just dying right here and now.

He can’t stay in the armoire forever, though, so with a very heavy heart, he opens the door with a soft _creak._

Victor is propped up on one elbow, and he regards shameful, miserable Yuuri with interest as he emerges from behind the door. Yuuri swallows.

“How long have you known I was in there?” Yuuri whispers.

Victor frowns. “I thought I smelled you from the start, but I thought I was mistaken. When your scent got stronger after we were done, though, I knew.”

Yuuri croaks, “Oh.”

“Now,” Victor says, not sounding angry but definitely not sounding happy either. “Yuuri, what made you decide to hide in the armoire while me and Dmitry were in here?”

Yuuri’s gaze flits to Dmitry, knocked out in rut-sleep beside Victor. He realizes with an awful lurch that his knot must still be inside Victor – that Victor is waiting for it to deflate.

He decides he may as well be honest – this looks _awful_, and no lie will make it better.

“I was looking for my watch,” he whispers, “It’s sentimental, and I can’t find anywhere. I heard his voice, heard him coming into the room, and Dmitry kind of… Kind of scares me, when we’re alone. So I hid.” Something strange passes over Victor’s face, something unpleasant. Yuuri finishes, “I had no idea you were right behind him. I swear.”

Victor hums, staring sharply at Yuuri, as though considering.

Then he sighs, flopping back down into his side. “Yuuri,” he says, sounding tired. “So long as you’re still up, will you draw me a bath? In the master bath, please. Add lavender essential oil. And jasmine.”

It’s so surreal. Victor is instructing him, just like Victor always does, but it’s different because Yuuri just watched Victor take an alpha’s knot, grasping and squelching and clenching around it-

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes, praying that in the dark, Victor can’t see the slight strain to his pants. There are few times he’s grateful he’s not an alpha, but this is certainly one of them. “Yes. I’ll – I’ll go.”

He flees, as quickly as he can while being as silent as possible.

Yuuri breaks into a run as soon as he’s shut the door behind him. He runs all the way to the master bath, with it’s gorgeous, raised stone tub, and nearly trips on the slippery bathroom floor. He turns on the tap, waiting until steaming hot water pours out before plugging the bath, letting it fill, slowly.

He adds little bits of lavender and jasmine essential oil until the room smells like perfume, like a garden.

_Victor, flushed down to his chest, an expression of utter bliss as he rides the alpha’s cock-_

Yuuri’s cocklet, starting to flag, hardens again. He whimpers, looking to the door desperately. It’ll be a bit before Victor is here, but – what if it doesn’t go away, what if Victor sees his hardness and is disgusted...?

His cocklet _throbs_ as the thought of Victor, hot with arousal, pops into his mind again – and slowly, shamefully, Yuuri slips his hand down his pants.

He’s so wet. Yuuri can’t remember the last time he’s ever been this wet. His fingers probe between his own folds, cautiously, and press against his entrance.

Yuuri whimpers, glancing at the door one more time, and slides his pants and underwear down to his mid-thighs. He slips one finger into his tight entrance, thrusting it up and down, squeezing his eyes shut. His cocklet throbs, and he grips it with his other hand, pumping it up and down. More slick gushes out of him, and he strokes his cocklet, faster and faster.

Pleasure pools in his lower belly, the slow, slow build of his orgasm, and Yuuri feels real fear that Victor is going to walk in on him with his pants down-

_Victor, moaning, spread so wide-_

Yuuri comes with a choked off cry, slick gushing down his thighs and over his fingers. He takes a moment to catch his breath before quickly pulling up his pants – he’s sticky, but at least he’s not hard anymore – and washing his hands in the bathroom sink.

Another wave of shame washes over him. Yuuri wallows in it, putting more essential oil in the bath to overwhelm the scent of him, and tries not to hate himself.

Victor arrives a few minutes later, limping just a little, and he gives Yuuri a tired smile. He’s wearing a sleek robe, only a robe, and his hair is in a messy bun again, a few short strands at the edges of his scalp still sticking to his neck with sweat.

“Mm,” he sighs, inhaling deeply. “Smells wonderful.”

He drops the robe.

Yuuri squeaks and covers his eyes. Victor comes up to him, grips his wrists, and pulls his hands down.

“I think,” he says, slowly, “We have moved beyond discomfort with nudity.”

Yuuri searches Victor’s face for anger, for disgust – it’s not there. The only thing is that strange, unreadable, curious expression.

Victor sinks into the bath without preamble, letting out a satisfied sigh.

He asks, “Yuuri – did you watch?”

Yuuri stifles his shriek just in time. “No,” he lies, feeling sick about it, “No. Well...”

Victor’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I thought!” Yuuri continues, trying to calm his breathing, “I thought – there were a few times, I thought he might be hurting you...”

Something flashes over Victor’s face. It looks – it looks strangely like disappointment, a touch of fondness, but perhaps Yuuri is imagining.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, “Will you put a hair mask in my hair? The – the one in the gold packet, thank you.”

Yuuri nods, picking the packet up. He tries to hand it over, but Victor shakes his head, looking a little lost.

“Will you comb it through for me?” he whispers.

Yuuri nods again, silent. He works the paste through Victor’s hair, combing it along every strand. It smells sweet, like honey, and it adds to the cloying perfume of the room.

Victor’s eyes are closed, his expression relaxed. Yuuri bites his lip, not sure where this is going, not sure what’s going to happen. For a moment, he lets himself relax. Victor scrubs his kiss-bitten skin down with a soapy cloth, lifting his legs out of the bath to run smooth circles along them. Yuuri closes his eyes as he massages Victor’s scalp, loving the feeling of making Victor feel special.

He finishes massaging the mask into Victor’s hair and twirls it into a little top knot, the mask keeping the strands stuck together.

Yuuri is hit with the sudden, strange urge to kiss the top of Victor’s head.

Victor stands, and Yuuri averts his gaze from the supple curves, the love bites all over his body. He turns to Yuuri with a soft smile, and, as if aware of how it’ll affect him, puts one foot on the edge of the tub, so his folds, puffy and swollen from use, are visible.

Yuuri stares even harder at the ground.

“I’m afraid I need to wash a rather intimate part of myself,” Victor says, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “You’re free to go to bed – I’ll rinse out the mask and drain the tub.” Then, with a strange smile, he continues. “Unless, of course, you’d like to help.”

“No!” Yuuri shouts, physically recoiling. “No! No. No. No! It’s okay! I’ll go to bed! Good night, Victor!” He looks ready to run, but he pauses for a moment and asks, sad and unsure. “I’ll... I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Victor smiles at him, soft and pink. “Bright and early.”

Yuuri flees, feeling very, very strange.

* * *

Victor watches Yuuri bolt out of the room, barely remembering to close the door behind him. He feels... Strange. Not bad, but definitely strange.

Dmitry was a selfish lover tonight, as he always is, leaving Victor to make himself come when he’s done. And that comment about him being loose...

He feels so good, though. He’s gone so often, and Victor has to satisfy himself with toys – dildos of all sizes, vibrators, beads for both his ass and pussy. They’re fun, but it’s so sterile, just him and an inorganic object that can’t hold him after.

Victor likes taking Dmitry’s cock, likes being full, likes the feeling of his walls stretching and the thick, ribbed tip rubbing deep inside. And he likes how Dmitry looks at him – by the time he comes back from whatever trip, Victor is usually so desperate and unsatisfied that he’d agree to do almost anything.

Like, for example, saying he’ll let his alpha take his ass instead – which he’s done a few times, and it’s... Fine, he supposes. It’s just that it’s such an impersonal position, and it’s not like Dmitry tries to make it particularly intimate, so it’s just Dmitry grunting and thrusting while Victor fingers himself boredly.

Victor takes the shower head and positions it at his entrance, turning it on so the spray touches his sensitive folds. He gasps, closing his eyes as he runs the spray up and down his inner thighs, and uses the last of his slick to curl his fingers inside himself and pull out as much of Dmitry’s come as he can.

He’s not worried about pregnancy. The suppressants he’s on are strong, and it’s not his heat. He just doesn’t like feeling so claimed.

Victor feels tingling arousal as the spray hits his cocklet, and he closes his eyes in frustration, thinking, _I wish my alpha would look at me_.

The thought comes unbidden: _Yuuri looked at me_.

Victor’s eyes fly open. His cocklet _throbs_, and Victor’s eyes widen at the sudden arousal. Does he really find that arousing, not disturbing? It had been an accident, Yuuri hadn’t been intending to spy, it was just bad timing-

Why hadn’t he made sure Yuuri wasn’t in the room, when he caught that whiff of him before they started?

He thinks of Yuuri, doe-eyed and pink cheeked, watching Dmitry fuck him. Victor’s arousal grows, and he bites his lip, letting the spray of the faucet run over his cocklet. Yuuri in the armoire, staring at him, appreciating the way he moves his body...

Fuck. Victor swallows, staring at his pink cocklet, almost fully hard between his folds. He strokes one finger down it, and it twitches, a spark of pleasure pooling in his belly. He turns up the strength of the spray, gasping as it touches his sensitive folds.

Victor imagines – maybe Yuuri is outside the bathroom, watching him clean himself, watching him run his fingers along his slick entrance-

Maybe Yuuri is unbuttoning his shirt, just a little, and his hand is slipping underneath the fabric to squeeze the flesh of his breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling a hard nipple between them. And maybe Yuuri moans, beautiful cheeks flushed pink, and he slides a trembling hand into his pants, touching himself-

_Fuck_. Victor curls two fingers around his slick cocklet, pumping up and down, shivering at the sensation of the water and his fingers. He ignores the guilty feeling in his stomach, wondering what Yuuri looks like _there_, thinking how unfair it is that Yuuri knows what he looks like, all of him, but not the other way around.

_Am I really getting off on this?_ Victor thinks, cheeks very pink. He leans forward in a lunge, stroking his cocklet in long strokes, slick dripping down his thighs again. The spray of the water washes it away, makes his folds twitch, hypersensitive.

In his mind, he’s taking the knot, and Yuuri is watching him, touching himself, and Yuuri presses a kiss to his entrance where it’s stretched and clenching desperately-

Victor comes with a cry, slick gushing down his thighs, little spurts of come from his cocklet, painting his navel.

He stands there in shock, the arousal fading into some mixture of curiosity and guilt. Victor swallows. It’s been a long day, and his emotions are a whirlwind, and maybe this was the manifestation of it-

But he liked it. He got off, thinking of Yuuri watching him, and this orgasm was so much better than the one with Dmitry inside of him.

Victor washes himself again, mechanically, and rinses the hair mask from his hair. He won’t think about that now. He’ll put it out of his mind.

He’s so, so lonely.

* * *

Yuuri tosses and turns, the sheets of his bed far too hot. He feels like he’s on _fire_, unable to get Victor out of his head. Victor’s voice, Victor’s face, Victor’s body-

He’s hard again. He’s hard and wet at the same time, and no matter how much Yuuri tries to ignore it, it won’t go away.

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up, and he’ll go watch Victor work out and help him stretch like he does almost every morning. He’ll watch Victor stretch, legs spread in a perfect split, and think about Victor sitting on his alpha’s cock-

Yuuri lets out a low sob and kicks off his pajama pants and underwear. He claps his hand over his mouth, muffling the low, shameful sounds he’s making, and cups his crotch, rubbing one finger along his outer folds.

Maybe it’s because he’s never been with an alpha, not really. Sure, he experimented in college, tried sucking cock a few times and gave pretty good handjobs, but nothing – nothing _real_.

He must be jealous of Victor – right? Yuuri frowns. He doesn’t _feel_ jealous – it’s Dmitry he doesn’t really like. But then... Why can’t he get Victor out of his head, if it’s not related to his alpha?

Yuuri spreads his legs, kicking off the blanket. He can’t bear to look down there, at his hardness, so he screws his eyes shut and uses two fingers to spread his quivering labia apart. His entrance twitches, just like Victor’s had, and he whimpers as he presses one finger against it.

It goes in so easy. He strokes the finger along his sensitive walls, sending little sparks of pleasure up his spine, then carefully, slowly, adds a second.

It’s tight. Not painful, but Yuuri doesn’t think he can comfortably add a third. Fuck, Dmitry was so big – how could Victor find that pleasurable? Alphas think that a big cock means they can better sexually satisfy an omega, but that’s not – Yuuri wouldn’t want that thing inside of him!

Victor pops, unbidden, back into Yuuri’s mind. Victor in the bath, smirking at him, putting his foot on the edge of the tub, completely naked-

Yuuri moans, thrusting his fingers inside himself. He pictures Victor working out, pictures Victor’s leg raised above his head in a stretch, pictures his own hand coming down to fondle Victor from the outside of his athletic pants, and Victor makes that same blissed out expression as Yuuri’s finger dips between his folds from outside his pants-

He scissors himself faster, whimpering, his other hand coming up to stroke his cocklet.

It’s not the alpha, he realizes with dawning frustration, it’s never been the alpha. He likes omegas, nothing he’s done with alphas has made him feel so hot as Victor did. Watching Victor, thinking of Victor, that was, god, _god_-

Yuuri whimpers, arching up off the bed so his fingers can go even deeper inside his entrance. He finds, ah – _there_, he finds the spot inside himself, curling his fingers so they stroke it with every thrust. His fingers grip his cocklet, the pad of his thumb stroking along it firmly.

_It’s not the alpha_, Yuuri thinks, whimpering in desperation, _It was so obvious, it’s not the alpha, it’s Victor-_

Victor’s face pops up in his mind, lips pink and kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed, and Yuuri knows that look is just for him. Pleasure builds, slowly, then all at once, and for the second time in one night Yuuri gets himself off, thinking of Victor.

He comes, crying out, pumping his fingers into his entrance furiously even as slick gushes out of him. His cocklet quivers and spurts out come, all over the fingers stroking it, and Yuuri trembles and cries through his orgasm.

_I want him_, he thinks, again and again, _I want him, I want him, I want him-_


	3. Chapter 3

The aftermath is unbearably awkward.

Alarm, bright and early. Coffee and the long, slow walk of shame to the at-home gym. He gets there, toes pressing into the soft foam mat, only to find Victor lounging on one of the benches, breathing heavily.

He sits up with a barely imperceptible wince, not quite smiling when he sees Yuuri. Yuuri wilts, not able to look Victor in the eyes.

“N-no stretching today?” he manages, trying to make conversation.

Victor sighs, raising his arms above his head and pushing his chest out, joints popping loudly.

“I just did some light yoga,” Victor admits. “I was too sore for a proper workout.”

There’s a pause. Then, both Yuuri and Victor go very red.

Last night seems to hang over them like a cloud.

Victor puts a little bit of finesse into his stretching, as he always does, now that he knows that Yuuri is watching, but it just seems to make Yuuri look more miserable, so he stops. He showers, staring at the little bites and nips along his body with distaste.

The outfit he picked today covers them, and he’s wearing a skirt, for once – a soft, flowy thing that’s still chic without being constricting as his body soothes away last night’s vigorous sex.

Dmitry’s gone again. He left before sunrise, and – Victor runs his finger along the curve of his collar. He didn’t renew the bond. Again.

Yuuri looks close to tears by the time Victor comes out, and Victor wants to hug him, but... Perhaps not, after last night.

“I, um,” Victor manages, reaching into a pocket in his skirt, “I found this. It was under a pile of things in my room. I think you may have forgotten it in there, and I just assumed... Assumed it was mine.”

He holds out the watch. The watch that had caused the entire fiasco.

Immediately Victor wants to kick himself, particularly when Yuuri goes slightly green and takes the watch with a trembling hand.

Breakfast is awkward, as well. They both tuck into their food – tea and a protein shake for Victor, fruit and granola and coffee for Yuuri – wordlessly, neither managing to start their normal early-morning rapport. It’s not like Yuuri is particularly talkative in the morning, something Victor likes to tease him about, but this isn’t his normal sleepy mumbling. He seems miserable.

Victor’s stomach does unpleasant little flip-flops. Makkachin lies between them, ears drooping, as though she can pick up on their distress.

The day drags on. Victor leaves the house for some of his errands, Yuuri mopes in his room. At some point, Phichit comes to check up on him – he’s such a sweet, sunny person, and he even brings Yuuri a cup of green tea and a pastry. They chat for a little bit, but Yuuri can’t bear the thought of telling him what’s wrong.

“Victor really seems to like you,” Phichit tries to soothe him, “If you’re worried about the job.”

That doesn’t quite help – he knows Victor thinks he’s a good employee, which makes what he saw so much worse.

Eventually, Phichit leaves to start lunch.

Yuuri stares out his window, with the view of the gardens, and thinks of Victor’s soft vulnerability when he’d talked about his mother’s art. Thinks how Victor shared that secret, precious part of himself – only to have Yuuri ruin his trust by...

By...

Yuuri buries his face in his pillow with a sad little whine.

It’s painfully obvious, now. He likes Victor. It goes beyond the title, his appearance... There’s his humor, his obvious interest in Yuuri’s life. Victor smiling makes heat pool in Yuuri’s belly, makes him flush, bright pink. He’s realized that he likes Victor, wants to be with him – kiss him, appreciate him in all the ways his alpha doesn’t, but...

But, well, Victor clearly liked his alpha fucking him, and Yuuri is sorely lacking there. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because he’s ruined it. Ruined any chance of Victor liking him back – hell, even trusting him, ever again.

No one’s ever looked at him like Victor does, like he’s useful, necessary, trusted. Working here, he really feels like he’s helping. He doesn’t want to lose that – and on a personal level, doesn’t want to lose the one chance he has to be close to someone he’s admired for so long, who’s turned out to be even lovelier in person.

Yuuri sighs, staring up at the bare ceiling of his room. Phichit knocks, a little while later, and comes in with a sandwich, which he leaves on the bedside table.

“Yuuri, are you sure nothing’s wrong?” he asks, sitting tentatively on the side of the bed.

“I’m sure,” Yuuri lies. “Just… Just a little tired.”

He closes his eyes. Phichit stays with him while he gets lost in his thoughts.

Victor sighs, running through the summer collections with his personal stylist. He’s on edge, not focusing, barely even cares about which swimsuits will accentuate his natural waistline. It took a matter of weeks for Yuuri to worm himself into Victor’s life. Without their conversation, their camaraderie, Victor feels completely lost.

Frustration fills him, and he tosses the magazine to the side with a grunt, wincing guiltily when his stylist bats her eyes at him in surprise. He’s become attached to Yuuri, and he hates how his loneliness makes him want to cling to Yuuri and never let him go. Yuuri is his employee. Yuuri... Yuuri, who talks to him so differently than everyone else. And now it’s ruined, he’s ruined it by accident, and even if it was no one’s fault it feels like there’s no way to fix this.

When Victor gets home, he flops down onto his bed, waiting for a moment to see if he hears the telltale scratch of Makkachin’s paws at his closed front door. When that doesn’t come, he sighs, staring up at the pastel blue ceiling with its little painted designs, a perfect recreation of something by Dmitry’s favorite architect. The one in Dmitry’s bedroom – which used to be their bedroom, Victor remembers bitterly – is even grander.

He closes his eyes. In his mind, he sees Yuuri, with his soft lashes and soft doe eyes and his legs for days – and he whimpers, dipping his hands beneath the hem of his skirt. He swallows, hands playing in the fine hairs just below the waistband, cheeks flushing with arousal and some guilt as he hesitates just above his limp, pink cocklet.

Then, biting his lip, Victor throws his head back in resignation and grabs it, stroking in circles around it as it steadily peeks out and hardens. A shudder runs through him, his hole still a little sore, and he strokes himself alone in his room, legs spread on the gorgeous wooden bed.

He comes, thinking of Yuuri’s mouth on his, and he brings his hand up in the shuddering, jerking aftermath of the orgasm, staring at the slick on his fingers. It doesn’t feel like last night, curious and exploratory, it just feels… Sad. Pathetic.

Victor grunts and gets up to wash his hands and spray some more sterile, hospital-bare de-scenting spray all over him, then douses himself in perfume to make up for the loss.

Tears bead at the corners of Victor’s eyes as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t want to lose this little kindling friendship, even if Yuuri doesn’t feel the same way.

He doesn’t want to go back to being alone.

Yuuri can’t bear the pain of separation, so with gritted teeth, he wanders upstairs to check on Victor before bed.

They ate dinner separately, too upset to eat together, but now the dull ache in is chest has worsened into a gaping chasm.

Victor is lying there, hair falling in messy clumps around his face, clinging to Makkachin and smelling like distress. There’s a book lying open on the bed, 1000 Brain Teasers, face-down and half buried under a blanket.

He peeks up when Yuuri comes in, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Yuuri swallows, picking up the book, and places a stray card between the pages it was turned to.

“It’s bad for the spine to leave books that way,” Yuuri whispers.

They look at each other for a long, long moment.

Then, at the same time Yuuri says, “Victor, please don’t fire me,” Victor blurts out, “Yuuri, please don’t quit.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Yuuri bursts into tears.

Victor yelps, sitting up and dislodging Makkachin, who turns her back on him with a reproachful boof.

“Yuuri?” he squeaks, horrifies. “Yuuri? What did I say?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Yuuri sobs, “I s-screwed everything up, I wasn’t supposed to...”

“It’s okay!” Victor rushes to reassure him, hands held out in front of him, still not sure if Yuuri wants to be touched. “It’s okay! I don’t mind that you saw me having sex! It... happens?”

He swallows. I really, really don’t mind it, he thinks, though he really doesn’t want to tell Yuuri that.

“How can you say that?” Yuuri hisses, breath hitching. “What I did...”

“You didn’t, I mean,” Victor stammers, “I understand, you were worried, and yes perhaps there was an easier way, but I don’t blame you.”

Yuuri laughs, humorlessly. “I lied,” he mutters, “I… God, I did think he might be hurting you, but I… It was more than that. I don’t want you to get rid of me, but I don’t know how I can continue to work here when I feel like this.”

“Like what?” Victor whispers.

“I admire you,” Yuuri says, flatly. “I think you’re lovely. And I… I-”

“You like to watch me,” Victor murmurs. “When I work out.”

Yuuri’s eyes go very wide, his cheeks flush scarlet. He doesn’t answer.

“Did you watch me last night?” Victor asks, again. His voice is soft, questioning – Yuuri answered him last night, but Victor thinks it might not have been complete.

Yuuri’s eyes go owlishly large, and the color drains from his face so fast it almost gives Victor whiplash.

Victor, with his puffy eyes and unkempt hair, crawls forward on the bed, towards Yuuri. The silk slip he’s wearing is just short enough that he knows it doesn’t cover him completely in this position.

“Do you want me, Yuuri?” He murmurs, hoping he doesn’t smell too strongly of sadness.

Yuuri leaps off the bed, clapping his hands over his mouth. Tears well in his eyes, and he whispers, “This is a test, you’re testing me, and I – I’m going to fail, aren’t I?”

Victor sits back, abandoning his attempts to be sexy. “He didn’t make me come, you know,” Victor says, flatly. “You saw that, didn’t you? How he didn’t satisfy me properly?”

Yuuri swallows. He nods, shakily, wiping at his eyes.

“I thought of you, after,” Victor murmurs, taking Yuuri’s hand and trying to still the wild beating of his heart. This is such a stab in the dark, such an insane thing to say – but Victor doesn’t want Yuuri to go, and all rational thoughts about how he can’t be with Yuuri because he’s his employer, all thoughts of how Dmitry would kill him he found out – they fly out the window in his desperation not to go back to how it was before Yuuri came here.

Yuuri doesn’t speak, eyes still so wide and scared. Victor tugs him back down onto the bed, putting his hand on Yuuri’s muscular thigh.

“You’ve satisfied me so well,” Victor continues, hand creeping up Yuuri’s thigh, “With your work. Last night, I thought of you, I thought how you could do better than him...”

He leans in, and Yuuri sways, as though in a daze. Victor stares at his long lashes, at his plump lips, feels Yuuri’s breath against his half-open mouth.

“I like helping you,” Yuuri whispers, “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry if I-”

“Shh,” Victor soothes, coming in even closer, “You didn’t. I thought about it, and I liked the thought of you watching me. I know you like watching me.”

Yuuri gulps.

Their lips barely brush before Yuuri jumps back with a yelp, staring at Victor in horror.

“Oh god, Victor, I’m so sorry! I,” he swallows, heavily. “You’re... You’re married.”

Oh.

The moment is gone, and Victor tries to quell the rising disappointment pounding against his ribcage. The barest brush of Yuuri’s lips and he feels drunk, giddy.

“I forgot,” Victor says lamely.

Yuuri gives him a skeptical look. He’s calmed down, now, and he runs his fingers through his own hair in frustration. “You’re married,” he repeats with a sigh. “I... You’re not wrong, what you’ve said. I like taking care of you. I liked...” He blushes, looking away. “It’s so hard to be here, knowing I can’t have you.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard,” Victor lies. “I like being with you, too. I won’t ask you to… To cheat. Even though I – well, nevermind. But please, if you like me, please don’t deprive me of your company, at least?”

Yuuri closes his eyes. Victor want to kiss him, so fucking bad.

“I like being with you, too,” Yuuri sighs. “I’m sorry, Victor, this is so awkward... I’ve just been so upset the entire day. I miss you.”

“It’s alright,” Victor laughs, thinking with a painful lurch that Yuuri can’t just say things like that. “It’s alright. God, I’ve been so miserable...”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around Victor, holding him close, breathing him in. The tension is gone, like a snapped rubber band, and suddenly Yuuri wants to laugh and laugh and laugh.

“Let’s start over, okay?” He murmurs against Victor’s ear, “From the beginning. Starting tomorrow, none... None of this happened, and we’re friends again. Okay?”

Victor tries to mask his hurt. He supposes this is better than nothing – at least he still has Yuuri.

“Your hair is down,” Yuuri says, changing the subject.

Victor laughs, breathlessly, pulling back. “I tried to braid it,” he says, “But I just... I couldn’t do it right.”

Yuuri gives him a watery smile. Victor stares at him, at his swollen, puffy eyes, at his ruby red lips, at the flush on his cheeks from crying. His heart thump-thumps in his chest, and he blinks, slowly.

“I could do that for you,” Yuuri whispers, lips parted prettily. “I could... Braid your hair, as you like.”

“You’re so good to me,” Victor murmurs. He licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, lavender and jasmine from Yuuri’s body washing over him. “Care about me…”

Yuuri snaps to attention and clambers behind him. Victor flops on the bed, closing his eyes, and lets Yuuri’s fingers work their magic in his hair.

He frowns a little, as Yuuri works. Yuuri is a frustratingly good person. To him, Dmitry is kind of rude, not a very good husband – but Yuuri wants to make Victor feel appreciated in ways that don’t compromise his morals.

Victor knows, now. Yuuri watched through the keyhole, watched Dmitry fuck him. He knows that Yuuri knows that afterwards, Victor thought of him, though Victor couldn’t bring himself to say that he touched himself as well.

If only he knew, Victor thinks, sadly, what Dmitry is really like.

Then, a jolt of an idea hits him, and his gaze flits to Yuuri, calculating.

If only he knew.

Things go, just as Yuuri said, back to normal. Yuuri still barely manages to hide his obvious admiration for Victor in athletic pants, they still eat together, Yuuri still takes care of his hair at night.

Victor goes back to his normal, clingy self – Yuuri likes his hugs. He likes the warmth of his body, the solid muscle, how he seems to melt against him.

Victor wants him. He thought about him after having sex with his alpha – maybe even touched himself, just like Yuuri did.That brings about all sorts of fantasies – Victor touching himself, his fingers slipping beneath his underwear, pale expanse of his neck exposed as he throws his head back in pleasure. The slick, dripping down his thighs as he fingers himself-

Yuuri is still kind of in disbelief about it – why would Victor Nikiforov, Lord Victor Nikiforov, be at all interested in him? In his flabby arms, in his awkward inability to make conversation, in his silly, overemotional brain.

Maybe it’s an omega thing – Yuuri was instantly attracted to Victor’s calm, soothing scent, the richness and warm notes. His own scent is nothing special, though, just simple flowers. How typical, for his gender.

He can’t help but think that Victor’s playing with fire, a little bit. Ever since he watched him that night, Victor is less shy about nudity around him.

He’ll call Yuuri into the shower after working out, clad only in a black thong, and ask him for help with something. He’ll stand around in his underwear instead of his pajamas in the mornings he doesn’t work out, picking out his outfit for the day. Yuuri wonders if Victor owns underwear that isn’t a thong, and feels some measure of embarrassment at his boy-shorts and briefs.

Maybe that’s just what Victor is used to – maybe it’s a European thing.

Or maybe, Yuuri thinks with some irritation, Victor is trying to entice him. That’s not quite fair – he knows Yuuri is attracted to him, but he also knows Yuuri was very firm about not pursuing a relationship with a married omega.

Victor’s diamond ring sparkles on his finger, massive, ostentatious. Once, Victor is standing naked in front of his closet, hips cocked and ass out in a way that Yuuri is sure is intentional, and he asks, somewhat irritated, “Is that wedding ring a family heirloom?”

Victor freezes. He stares at the band, glittering so brightly, and mumbles, red-faced, “Dmitry bought it. Nothing we had was quite good enough.”

Then Yuuri feels bad. He doesn’t know what to do – everything he’s ever learned from his parents’, then his friends’ happy relationships is that cheating is the worst thing in the world, that it ruins lives, that only awful, manipulative, nasty people do it. Dmitry is so – so... So mean, though!

“It’s really nice,” Yuuri says, weakly, “The band matches your hair...”

Victor smiles back, softly. “We keep wondering when we’ll uncover the secret collection of family jewels,” he jokes. “Mama has probably scoured every shed in a thirty mile radius.”

Victor deserves to be happy. He’s not happy with Dmitry, because Dmitry is not nice, and Yuuri could fix that...

He wonders why they don’t get divorced.

Unhappy as Victor is, there’s no indication that Dmitry wants a divorce. He married Victor to be real, actual nobility – if they divorce, he loses that.

Why then, Yuuri thinks in frustration, Isn’t he treating him better?

Maybe if Yuuri talks to Dmitry – maybe he’s just stuck in his own head. He’s the CEO of a tech empire, maybe he just doesn’t realize how human contact should be. The idea causes a painful pang in his chest.

He wants Victor. He wants to hold him, to make him feel wanted. He could do that, but it’s not right.

Yuuri lets Victor cling on to him, frustration growing and growing and growing.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Once, Victor falls asleep while Yuuri is still puttering about the room, making sure his outfit, his toiletries, his schedule is ready for the next day. Victor hadn’t slept well the night before, Yuuri knows – he could tell even as he settled on the exercise bench and read out the appointments Victor had throughout the day. His eyes bore dark circles, and he yawned even as he clenched the holds of the elliptical.

“I can cancel the lunch with Genevieve,” Yuuri offers, “If you’d rather use that time to take a nap.”

“It’s alright,” Victor says, yawning again, “Ugh. I shouldn’t cancel. Her alpha is one of Dmitry’s friends, and I don’t want him giving me a hard time about offending her.”

“He’d know you needed the rest if he slept in the same room as you,” Yuuri mutters under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Oh,” Yuuri sighs. “Nothing, nothing.”

Victor’s face is serene in sleep. Yuuri runs a finger over his smooth cheek, pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, and carefully puts the beanie he was knitting on the bedside table so it doesn’t get rumpled or unravel.

It’s just… Right there. His face, pale and peaceful, a strand of silvery hair lying across it. Yuuri leans down to tuck it back behind his ear, and detects the barest hint of his warm, spiced scent. Before he can think of what he’s doing, he kisses Victor’s cheek, just barely at the corner of his mouth-

And immediately pulls away, stifling a gasp with his hand.

It was one of the hardest things he’s done, refusing Victor when he knew Victor wanted him. To give in, though, would be utter selfishness – he has no right to Victor, not when he’s married. And, again, what could he give Victor that Dmitry could not? Yuuri’s a failure, in nearly all regards – Dmitry is… not.

He flees the room, cheeks scarlet, and tries to ignore the gnawing, clawing want in his chest.

“Yuuri dear,” Victor coos one night, a little while later, “I was hoping to do some light reading. Could you fetch me the puzzles book, from the library?”

“You have a very strange idea of light reading,” Yuuri teases. Victor’s smile is a light in the dark room, and Yuuri finds himself reminiscing on it as he closes the door.

He takes the stairs, careful to be quiet, the house still mostly asleep. He notes Yuri, eighteen and now full time, harried under a stack of suit jackets, and bitterness fills the back of his throat. Dmitry always leaves his things around for the staff to clean, like he has no common courtesy. Yuuri thinks he may have started to dread his homecomings as much as Victor does.

Yuuri wanders carefully down the dark hallway, past guest bedrooms, past the master bedroom-

“Ah!”

A high pitched, feminine voice echoes from behind the door.

Yuuri freezes.

He hears a laugh, low and rumbling, sounding just like-

“Oh, Dmitry, hah.”

Yuuri’s mouth goes completely dry. He – he must have misheard – maybe Dmitry is watching some kind of pornography, though why he’d be doing that with a very willing Victor upstairs, Yuuri doesn’t know-

“Alina, ah – as beautiful as the first time I saw you.”

High-pitched, girlish giggling. “Oh, Dmitry – you flatter me.”

Yuuri drops to the floor, noting with some measure of embarrassment that this is the second time he’s caught Dmitry engaged in sex with someone, but this is...

This is...

The crack in the door is large enough that Yuuri can just barely see what’s happening. There are two sets of bare feet, leading up to two pairs of smooth legs. Just like in the armoire, Yuuri watches, horrified, as Dmitry’s rough hand slides up a pale thigh, but this is wrong, because Victor is upstairs, so this is...

“Yes, oh, yes,” cries the woman, as the same, wet sounds Yuuri heard from Victor echo from under the door.

Suddenly, Dmitry drops to his knees, and one of the woman’s legs hooks over his shoulder, and Yuuri claps his hand over his mouth.

The woman whimpers as Dmitry’s stops what he’s doing.

“Sorry, my love,” he chuckles, “I’m going to make sure I locked the door.”

Yuuri claps his hand over his mouth and scoots back as quickly, and as quietly, as he can. He sits back against the wall, hand still clapped over his mouth, cold sweat dripping down his brow as he watches Dmitry’s shadow appear under the crack of the door, as he hears the click of a lock-

And the shadow disappears.

Yuuri bolts.

“Victor!” Yuuri gasps, “Victor, I, fuck-”

He leans against the door frame, chest heaving, gasping desperately for breath.

“Yuuri?” Victor says, sitting up straight, “Yuuri, is everything alright?”

“No,” Yuuri wails, throat tight from running up the stairs at full speed, “Victor, I’m so, so sorry...”

He runs over to Victor and wraps his arms around him, bowling him back onto the pillows.

“Yuuri!” Victor gasps out, “Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Dmitry,” Yuuri sniffles, pulling Victor’s head into his chest, “I’m so sorry, I went to get your book, b-but I h-heard him with another omega...”

“Oh,” Victor says, softly.

“I heard them t-together, oh Victor,” Yuuri cries, “I couldn’t smell her, but then I realized, Victor, is that why the house always has to be so sterile? So he can bring omegas back with him undetected? I’m s-so sorry, I knew he was mean, but I never thought...”

Throughout all of Yuuri’s outburst, Victor has remained silent, just staring into the distance, sadly. Yuuri frowns. He should be surprised, or upset, or...

Then, it clicks into place.

“You knew,” Yuuri gasps, pulling away, “You... You always knew.”

Victor nods, not looking him in the eye. It feels like the answer is on the tip of his tongue, something just out of reach. When it dawns on him, it feels like he’s been plunged in icy water.

“You knew,” Yuuri says, slowly. “And you... You sent me down there on purpose.”

Victor winces. His lack of an answer tells Yuuri everything he needs to know.

“How long?” Yuuri hisses. “How long has he been doing this?”

Victor swallows. “Years,” he says, “Not at first, when I was younger, but then – I found out the first time when I was twenty four, I confronted him, he said he’d stop – and then he… He didn’t”

Yuuri’s eyes flash. “Years?”

Victor nods “After the third time I caught him, I – I realized he was never going to stop. I didn’t have the energy to keep confronting him, and I knew he’d just lie again.”

“Oh, Victor,” Yuuri murmurs, expression troubled, stricken.

“I’m sorry,” Victor whispers. “I know, it was underhanded of me. I just wanted you to know... What kind of alpha my husband is.” He closes his eyes. “I know I’m selfish. I’m so, so selfish, but Yuuri, I – mmf!”

Yuuri kisses him. It’s not the soft, bare brush of lips from before – this is intense, Yuuri nibbling at his lower lip, Yuuri pressing his tongue against Victor’s teeth, Yuuri reaching around to grip the small of Victor’s back, the fabric of his night dress sliding up barely over the curve of his ass.

When they pull apart, Victor sways, as if in a daze. Yuuri has released a spray of pheromones into the air, and Victor drinks them in, greedily.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes, but before he can continue, Yuuri is kissing him again, pushing him back so he’s lying on the bed, Yuuri leaning over him.

“I can’t believe him,” Yuuri hisses, “I’ve been... I’ve been denying myself because I felt bad. I felt bad for him, that I wanted you so badly, while he’s been – ugh!”

Victor blinks, but then Yuuri’s tongue is in his mouth, and all thoughts fly out of his head.

“Years! I was worried about ruining your relationship when he’s been – years!”

Yuuri fumes for a moment longer in between pressing their lips together. Victor can’t help but laugh at that, oddly touched.

“He didn’t even eat you out!” Yuuri continues, in a righteous fury. Then, he goes sheet-white, and looks to the side, embarrassed.

Victor raises his eyebrows, pulse quickening at the reminder of how he was watched. “Oh?”

“I mean,” Yuuri mumbles, flushing again, “I heard... Heard. And saw. He didn’t – and that’s what he was doing, when I heard the omega in his room.”

“You seem to have a habit of watching other people in carnal embrace,” Victor teases, brushing his fingers through Yuuri’s bangs above him.

Yuuri flushes even deeper. Then, he mumbles, “I could.”

“Hm?”

Yuuri turns back to Victor, brows furrowed and eyes aflame with determination. “I could, um. Eat you out.”

Victor’s eyes go very wide.

“Nevermind,” Yuuri mumbles, not meeting Victor’s gaze, “It’s stupid, forget it-”

“No,” Victor gasps, “No – if you, uh. If you want to. You should feel free.”

Yuuri swallows. It’s like they’re discussing daytime activities, like who should take the last dinner roll.

Yuuri’s gaze burns. When their eyes meet, Victor takes a short, sharp breath.

“Please,” he adds on, belatedly.

Yuuri nods, flushing, his hands gripping Victor’s hips through the fabric of his skimpy slip. Victor’s skin is so soft, moisturized and exfoliated masterfully, and it thrums under Yuuri’s fingers. Slowly, carefully, he slips his hands underneath the nightdress, fingers hooking on the edge of Victor’s underwear.

“How are you wearing a thong to bed?” Yuuri hisses, “How is that comfortable?”

“I just like them,” Victor says, bemused.

Yuuri pushes the fabric of the slip up, and Victor lifts his hips to let it pool around his navel. His breath hitches when Yuuri rubs soft circles around his hipbones with his thumb, leaning down to press a kiss to one, then the other.

Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to slide Victor’s underwear down his thighs. When it reaches his knees, Victor whimpers in impatience, kicking the underwear off and onto the floor.

Yuuri grips his hips again to steady him, and Victor melts. The look in Yuuri’s eyes is intoxicating, the way he licks his lips – partially out of nerves, partially out of desire – like Victor’s body is a feast before him.

“Please,” Victor whimpers, because he can barely form coherent sentences.

Yuuri stares at Victor, so much prettier up close, in the low lamplight Victor sets before settling in to sleep. The silk slip shimmers, the same color as Victor’s hair, and Yuuri thinks – he thinks of the thong, how a little strand of slick had stuck to it as he pulled the underwear off, dripping down between Victor’s folds.

How, Yuuri wonders, How could Dmitry not want this?

Yuuri settles between Victor’s thighs, spreads them just a little wider, and puts his thumbs on his folds, running them up and down. Victor’s cocklet twitches, pink and soft, and Victor gasps when Yuuri flicks it, lightly.

Then, he shifts positions, nestles his head between Victor’s thighs and presses a flurry of soft kisses up the firm muscles of his inner thighs. Slick glistens between Victor’s folds, the scent of him, warm and spiced, is almost intoxicating.

Yuuri swallows, determined, and spreads Victor’s folds in one quick motion, licking up from his quivering entrance to his cocklet.

Victor cries out, body jerking, and Yuuri smirks against the meat of his inner thigh. His folds quiver, his entrance twitches, begging for something. Yuuri teases his tongue around it, moving in slow, slow circles, before licking a wet stripe up again.

“Yuuri,” Victor cries, arching his back. He sits up, scoots back and away, and for a moment Yuuri thinks maybe he’s messed up – but then Victor lunges at him, capturing his lips in a wet kiss.

His hand comes up to cup the outside of Yuuri’s shirt, his thumb rubbing gently over Yuuri’s nipple. It hardens, poking out from the white fabric.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers, pulling back with a wet pop. “What about you?”

Yuuri goes a bright, flaming red. “W-what about me?”

Victor’s fingers, thin and gentle, pop open the top button on his shirt. “Shouldn’t we both enjoy this?”

Yuuri breathes shallowly, Victor’s lips warm and wet against his neck, Victor’s fingers barely brushing the sensitive skin of his collar, popping open a second button…

“I’d enjoy it just fine,” Yuuri murmurs, as those fingers slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and barely brush the edge of his nipple, “If I just got to watch you.”

Victor freezes. Yuuri’s eyes fly open as he realizes what he’s said, and he’s about to deny it, to take it back – but then Victor shifts in front of him, settling with Yuuri’s knee between his legs, and through his pants Yuuri feels Victor’s hard cocklet.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers, kissing Yuuri again, lips peppering up Yuuri’s jaw until they barely brush against the corner of his mouth, “That’s not how sex works.”

“I know how sex works!” Yuuri says, affronted.

Victor stares at him for a moment, then dissolves into a fit of giggles, throwing his arms around Yuuri and muffling his laughter into his neck.

“Of course you do,” Victor teases, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he continues to laugh.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but he can’t mask the little smile that plays on his lips.

“Please,” Victor murmurs, the sultriness of his voice reduced somewhat as he muffles the last of his giggles behind his hand, “Can’t I see you, too?”

Yuuri swallows. He feels… Lumpy. Big. Like a hulking, strange alien in his body, and when he thinks of the tight, toned strength of Victor’s thighs, his perfect body-

“I’ve been thinking about your thighs,” Victor says, utterly shameless, rubbing between his legs against Yuuri’s thigh, “They’re glorious. Want them wrapped around my face.”

Yuuri is so shocked he doesn’t know how to respond. Victor continues to rub against him, and he says, inexplicably, “Victor! These are my work clothes!”

“Then take them off,” Victor whines, continuing to grind against him. “Don’t you have more?”

“Yes,” Yuuri stammers, “Yes, but – sorry. Okay. Yes. You… Really like my thighs?”

“Love them,” Victor smirks, running his hand – the one that isn’t occupied stroking Yuuri’s chest – along Yuuri’s thigh, the thumb just barely brushing against his crotch. “Yuuri, can I undress you?”

“Sure,” Yuuri says, trying for nonchalance. “Sure. If you – yes.”

Victor, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about Yuuri’s awkwardness this time. He unbuttons Yuuri’s shirt, slowly, pulling it out from over his waistband, and when his fingers brush just above Yuuri’s stomach, Yuuri shudders, full-bodied. He unzips his slacks as Victor unbuttons his shirt, impatient, and he wriggles out of them with only a flash of discomfort.

His underwear is… Not sexy, simple boyshorts maybe a bit too big. Yuuri bites his lip, hiding his flush as he thinks of what Victor wears, but Victor’s face as he hooks his fingers into the elastic waistband is intense, reverent.

Yuuri shifts his hips up so Victor can pull his underwear down, and they’re tossed off to the side with the rest of his clothing, so he supposes their frumpiness doesn’t really matter.

Victor licks his lips, slowly, and stares.

“Um,” Yuuri murmurs, as Victor’s gaze rakes up his naked body.

Victor moves, burying his head in Yuuri’s naked chest, and says, “Oh my god, finally.”

“Um?” Yuuri says again, flushing down to his chest.

Victor looks up to him, grinning, and he presses a firm kiss to his right pectoral. “I can’t wait to get to your thighs,” he murmurs against Yuuri’s skin, “But I want to start here.”

He kisses lower, the top of Yuuri’s areola, then lower, lips puckering around the soft bud of his nipple, mouthing at the sensitive skin.

“Hah,” Yuuri gasps, each nibble of Victor’s lips shooting straight to his cocklet, “Hah, wait, I’m s-supposed to be making you feel good.”

Victor pulls off his nipple with a pop, thumb flicking back and forth across the spit-slicked bud. “You are,” he says, pressing a line of kisses along to Yuuri’s other nipple. He grabs Yuuri’s hand and brings it down, between his legs, and continues, “Here. Feel.”

Then, he latches onto Yuuri’s nipple with his lips, kissing it, suckling on it, while he rolls the other bud between his thumb and forefinger. Yuuri reaches below the fabric of Victor’s slinky nightdress, running his hand along the curve of his inner thigh, dipping one finger between Victor’s dripping folds.

Victor is so, so wet. Yuuri presses his fingers further into his folds, wriggling them back and forth and watching the folds move, feeling the slick coating his fingers without him even pressing his fingers inside. Victor whimpers, hips jerking.

Heat pools in Yuuri’s belly as Victor continues to lavish affection on his nipples. They’re hard, swollen from the attention, pebbling in the cool air as Victor goes back and forth.

Victor’s hand cups the back of Yuuri’s head, the other coming to the small of Yuuri’s back and, as though hypnotized, Yuuri creeps forward. Victor settles under him, hand massaging the flesh of Yuuri’s ass, encouraging him forward until he’s straddling Victor’s stomach, the fabric of Victor’s nightdress bunched up around his thighs and Victor’s chest.

“I want your thighs around my head,” Victor says, utterly shameless.

Yuuri swallows, so unbelievably hot. He ponders, running his fingers over his sensitive nipples, rolling them between his thumbs – and crawls forward until his hands grip the headboard and his wet, dripping pussy is right over Victor’s face.

“Yes,” Victor breathes, and his breath ghosts over Yuuri’s folds, making him shudder, “Yes. God, love your thighs.”

Victor kisses one, then the other, reaching up to spread his legs just a little wider, and Yuuri feels every one of Victor’s breaths against his folds, his twitching cocklet, feels how the slick drips down out of him and right onto Victor’s wet tongue, just barely a centimeter away-

Victor grips Yuuri’s ass, firmly, and suddenly his mouth is on him, and Yuuri cries out, shuddering full bodied as Victor’s tongue spreads his entrance, laps at his sensitive folds, licks hot, wet stripes up from his entrance to his cocklet. It flicks at his cocklet, hot and hard and peeking out from its hood, sending sparks of pleasure all throughout Yuuri’s body.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasps, “Victor, ah – I’m s-supposed to be- One sec, one-”

Victor swirls his tongue around Yuuri’s entrance, teasing him, and Yuuri’s body protests deeply as he pulls himself away from that hot, wet warmth. He repositions himself so he’s facing the other way, so he can see Victor’s body – the bunched up fabric of his night dress around his stomach, his hard cocklet between his legs, his smooth, silky thighs and stomach with that trail of silvery hair.

Yuuri shifts, slightly, and Victor yelps as Yuuri’s knee accidentally pulls his hair.

“Sorry!” Yuuri stammers, shifting again, quickly, “Sorry!”

Victor removes his hands from massaging Yuuri’s ass to tuck his hair behind his ears and underneath him. Then, he kisses a flurry up Yuuri’s thighs and plunges his tongue into him, not waiting for Yuuri to get his bearings, and Yuuri falls forward onto Victor’s body as Victor tongue-fucks him, thumbs spreading his folds wide so Victor can tease between them.

Well, Yuuri thinks, nosing against the hair on Victor’s navel, I guess I’ll have to tease him too.

He laps into Victor’s belly button, kissing down, down, and Victor spreads his legs willingly as Yuuri gets closer. Yuuri pulls them up, Victor’s knees going towards his head, and he kisses Victor’s cocklet when it bobs towards his lips.

Victor jolts, the sound that he makes thrumming through Yuuri’s body and sending sparks of pleasure up Yuuri’s spine. It’s so warm between Victor’s legs, his scent so much stronger down here. Victor is eating Yuuri out vigorously, tongue making wet, slick sounds as it plunges in and out of him, making Yuuri’s walls quiver and slick gush out of him and onto Victor’s face.

In front of him, Victor jerks his hips, cocklet painfully hard. Slick dribbles out of him as his legs jolt, and he makes little mewling sounds against Yuuri’s entrance as he wriggles his hips desperately, Yuuri’s lips barely brushing him.

Yuuri spreads Victor’s folds, tongue pressing against his twitching, quivering entrance. It’s hard to focus with Victor behind him, tongue deep inside him and fingers curled around his cocklet – but he’s teasing a little when he leaves his tongue barely pressed against Victor’s entrance and lets Victor jerk up desperately, trying to get more friction.

When Victor lets out a low whine, pinching Yuuri’s ass, Yuuri laughs and finally takes Victor’s cocklet into his mouth.

Victor cries out, and the sound has Yuuri moaning into Victor’s cocklet as the vibrations travel up his body.

Slick gushes out of Victor as Yuuri takes his cocklet into his mouth, rubbing the flat of his tongue along the slick, pink length. He loves watching cocklets get hard, watch them peek out of their hood and lengthen, pulsing and twitching with desire. Victor’s is, of course, hard already – so hard it twitches with each flick of Yuuri’s tongue.

Yuuri laps up the cocklet once, twice, three times – relishing in how each lap makes Victor jerk and cry out, how he feels those cries against his own body, throbbing desperately with arousal.

Victor moans, long and loud, one of his hands massaging Yuuri’s ass and the other reaching down to stroke his cocklet.

Pleasure builds. Yuuri shudders, Victor’s tongue touching deep inside of him, Victor’s fingers sending hot sparks of arousal through him.

“S’good,” he moans against Victor’s cocklet, “S’good, yessss...”

Victor makes an appreciative noise, and Yuuri slides his finger between his folds, covering it with slick. He flicks Victor’s labia, watching it move and twitch, his lips and tongue swirling around Victor’s cocklet.

“M close,” Yuuri mumbles again, thighs trembling with Victor’s tongue lapping in and out of him. He wants to say more, but Victor wriggles his hips enticingly, and Yuuri puts his mouth to better use by taking Victor’s cocklet all the way, his slick-coated finger slipping inside Victor’s dripping pussy.

Victor’s tongue laps faster, his fingers curling deftly around Yuuri’s cocklet. It’s hot, so hot, the slick, squelching sounds from Yuuri’s entrance clenching around Victor’s tongue, Victor moaning into Yuuri’s hot, wet heat-

Yuuri whimpers, movements becoming erratic, but he doesn’t want to let go of Victor’s silken cocklet and walls so he cries out into them as he gets closer, closer-

His orgasm crashes over him like a wave, and he feels his walls contract around Victor’s tongue, feels his cocklet twitch and jerk against Victor’s fingers, and he’s coming, he’s coming-

Yuuri’s hips jerk, thighs tremble, his orgasm winding down but Victor keeps fucking him with his tongue, keeps stroking his hyper-sensitive cocklet, even as it softens back into its hood, and Yuuri whimpers desperately as Victor’s mouth stays on him, fingers curling into Victor’s hot, wet entrance-

“Victor,” Yuuri cries, as Victor continues to stroke him, resting his cheek against the soft curl of hair above Victor’s cocklet, still fingering him, “Victor, I came, that’s – hah – I’m… It’s too sensitive...”

His hips grind down, the sensation of Victor’s mouth bordering on painful, and finally Victor pulls away with a lewd, squelching sound.

Then, though Yuuri can’t see it, Victor throws his head back and laughs. His hands spread and massage Yuuri’s ass cheeks, and Yuuri laughs too, orgasm causing a drunk, giddy feeling. His fingers continue to curl into Victor’s entrance. It feels like the walls are sucking on his fingers, and Yuuri takes Victor’s cocklet into his mouth again.

Victor cries out, dissolving into another fit of giggling, his fingers moving Yuuri’s folds, which spread and drip slick with each circular motion.

Yuuri can’t help but smile, loving the feeling of Victor in his mouth, loving the taste of him – and his fingers curl, trying to find that sweet spot inside of him.

“Further, hah, further up,” Victor says, still giggling, “Further – yes, yesss...”

Victor’s hips twitch, and Yuuri sucks him, relishing the contractions in his entrance as Yuuri strokes Victor’s sweet spot.

“You look so good,” Victor coos, “So flushed, such a pretty color. Still dripping slick.”

He runs his fingers along Yuuri’s folds again, pressing his smile into Yuuri’s thighs.

Yuuri goes bright red, equal parts pleased and embarrassed that Victor likes the sight of him. He also thinks, though, that if Victor can do anything other than cry out in pleasure, he’s not doing his job, and he laps more vigorously at Victor’s cocklet.

Victor cries out, back arching off the bed, and Yuuri smirks.

“Yuuri,” Victor whimpers, “Yuuri, I’m coming, keep, just like this-”

Yuuri grunts and nods, bobbing his head up and down, curling his fingers even deeper, and when Victor cries out with each stroke he knows he’s found that spot.

“I’m gonna cum,” Victor gasps, laughing giddily, “Gonna cum, yes, Yuuri, you feel so good-”

Victor’s cries get higher pitched as Yuuri strokes him, as his fingers fuck his wet, wanting pussy. He arches his back, crying out loudly, and suddenly his muscles are contracting and slick is gushing from his entrance and his cocklet is spurting out come-

And Yuuri keeps licking him, keeps fucking him with his fingers, and Victor writhes, body pinned down by Yuuri’s thighs, gasping and mewling as Yuuri laps at the softening, hypersensitive cocklet and walls.

He smirks as Victor whimpers, as his body jerks and shudders, thinking, you did this to me!

Finally, he pulls off, and Victor laughs again, again – a beautiful, melodic laugh. Yuuri turns to Victor, wiping the slick from his face – and Victor tackles him back onto the bed, kissing him furiously, his loose, wet entrance sliding down Yuuri’s bent knee.

It’s odd, their slick and saliva mingling as they kiss, Victor laughing so loud and wide that Yuuri kisses his teeth half the time instead of his lips – but the feeling is infectious, the rush of dopamine making Yuuri giddy and giggly and soon they’re both laughing and holding each other and nuzzling against the other’s slick-soaked cheeks and lips.

“Wow,” Victor breathes, “Wow.”

Yuuri flushes. He doesn’t think he’s any kind of sex god – probably Victor is just happy to be with someone who wants to satisfy him…

But it still feels very nice, the way Victor looks at him with pink cheeks and kiss-bitten lips.

“Mm,” Victor murmurs, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck. “Bedtime.”

Yuuri’s heart lurches at the sudden reminder that he can’t…

He can’t stay.

“I should shower,” Yuuri murmurs, pulling back, though every muscle of his body is screaming at him to stay in those warm, spice scented arms. “I should…”

He cuts off, drooping in distress.

“Sleep with me,” Victor cajoles. “I have extra pajamas. Or, just stay naked.”

Yuuri bites his lip, hard, and Victor pulls him into a kiss, open-mouthed and filthy and… very desperate.

“Please,” Victor whispers, and Yuuri feels his sticky cheeks and the sweat dripping down his back when he grips the firm muscle there. “Shower with me, think it over?”

Yuuri swallows, knowing if Victor gets him into the shower, if he and Victor wash each other’s hair and bodies, it’ll be even harder to leave afterwards. He needs to go, it’s a bad idea to sleep in here with Victor while Dmitry is just a floor down…

But sleeping with Victor, fucking him, was a bad idea already – and Yuuri can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. Sure, maybe he fucked up his chances at his last career, maybe he can’t meet Dmitry’s eye because whenever they’re in the same room Yuuri’s instincts go into overdrive – but he’s pretty sure he can make Victor feel better than Dmitry currently does.

He’s had an outside admiration for Victor for years, now, but the real Victor – the one he’s slowly unraveling through his work (and with his tongue) – is such a wonderful surprise. Yuuri’s heart pangs in his chest. His feelings threaten to overwhelm him, a deep, throbbing pit of desire, but more than that – something that he can’t quite identify, something burning and intense.

He stashes that away, knowing that it’s silly to think Victor would feel that. This is lust, loneliness – nothing more. Right? Just a side fling, something to satisfy him since his husband can’t. After all, aside from a few orgasms, what can Yuuri give Victor that Dmitry can’t?

Victor takes his hand and leads him to the marble shower in the stunningly bright, glittery bathroom, and Yuuri stares down his pale back.

What is this? Yuuri wonders. What am I doing? What could this become?

Victor turns to him, plump pink lips curved into a fond smile. Yuuri takes a deep breath and blindly plunges forward.


End file.
